Elixir
by Resonance and d
Summary: Harry never intended to use the Philosopher's Stone. Now, in a world where all the rules have suddenly changed, he must work to regain control. AU from 1st year, may have mild slash later.
1. The Stone

**Elixir**:

**Chapter 1: The Stone**

The moment Harry felt the stone land in his pocket, he knew that the only way to keep Voldemort from getting it was to destroy it. Without considering what he might be doing to the Flamels, or what the value of the red stone in his pocket was, he took it out and threw it at the ground as hard as he could. Immediately, he realized what a terrible mistake he'd made.

Now there were hundreds of stones, thousands of them glittering sharply on the ground. The stone had not been destroyed at all. It had been multiplied.

Voldemort only laughed, and Quirrel along with him. They picked up a sharp long fragment.

"At last…"

Harry could not tell which one of them was speaking.

It was while Harry stared unbelievingly at the ground that Voldemort cast his spell. It was green, and every instinct Harry possessed screamed that he should not let it hit him. He flung himself to the ground, ignoring the pain as his elbow hit the ground and what felt like a million small needles pierced his side. And then Voldemort cast the spell again. There was no dodging it this time- Harry was on the ground, and he just couldn't move fast enough. It struck, and Harry blacked out-but only for a second, because when he opened his eyes again, Voldemort had moved only a few centimeters towards him, a grin on his face. Harry's side was burning. It was easily the worst pain he had ever felt. He glared at Voldemort, and Voldemort stared back at him.

"How?" came a hoarse whisper, and then red eyes darted toward red blood on the ground, and to the shards of the stone dusting the floor of the entire room.

_It's in me now,_ Harry thought. _He can't kill me, because I have the stone._

And he leapt towards Voldemort with energy he should have not have had, his wounds already closing.

Harry's magic was no match for Voldemort's, but that didn't matter. There was no offensive move that could hurt Harry now, no way for Voldemort to win. His only option was to lose or to take a draw. He didn't have time to stab himself with a piece of the stone, or to come up with any sort of strategy at all. Harry moved fast, by instinct, choking his enemy with hands that now seemed to burn Voldemort wherever they touched.

When Dumbledore arrived, he was too late. The enemy was dead. He hadn't even had time to flee the body he'd inhabited. Harry was alone, standing very still in a chamber that was now silent. His bright green eyes shone in a room covered in red.

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"We'll have to remove the stone from your body," Dumbledore told Harry, "It isn't safe. We have no information on what it could do to your body or mind. Also, it makes you too valuable a kidnap victim- your blood can heal all wounds, can grant eternal life. It isn't a power to be used lightly."

Harry didn't say a word. He hadn't since he left the room where he became a murderer. He kept looking at his left arm, which was covered in tiny white scars. If they had been brown they could have passed as freckles. There were more of them, he knew, on his leg, where his robes had slid up a bit as he had fallen. There were even a few on his neck, and one on his forehead somehow, right under his lightening bolt, turning it into a sort of jagged exclamation point. There was no other sign of what had happened, save that his blood was now as silvery as that of a unicorn. Perhaps it lent him a sort of glow. His complexion was less pink for it, certainly. He would have looked very odd if his tan from all the outdoor work with the Dursleys last summer hadn't kept some color on him.

"Are you listening, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry half-shrugged, then nodded, staring at the place where the largest fragment had lodged itself, just below the elbow on the inside of his arm. He could almost make out the red there, if he squinted. He could feel it there, if he rubbed the place. It was smaller than a grain of rice, and was enough to wage a war over.

_I think I died for a minute, _Harry thought, _when that that spell hit me. Do I stay alive if these come out?_

He wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to speak. He stared at Dumbledore mutely, hoping that his message would somehow get across. Maybe it did for Dumbledore gave him a warm smile.

"Everything is going to work out fine, Harry. I'm going to let you speak to Nick-to Mr. Flamel-before we take them out. He knows more about the stone than any other person alive. I'm sure he can answer any questions you have."

Harry shook his head slightly, _I want to keep them, _he thought,_ I like feeling safe. I won't ever have to worry about Dudley's gang at home if they can't hurt me. I won't have to worry about anything._

He shook his head again, this time more fiercely. Again, there was the thought of his death, of silver blood slowly going red, and then brown, as it leaked out of him and dried-

He was shaking now, and Dumbledore's face showed concern.

"Are you alright? Harry?"

Harry began to breathe deeply, and held himself still. _They have to get some sort of consent, don't they? Or is that just Muggles? I'd better owl the Dursleys to make sure they don't give it, just in case._

He continued to shake his head, and is he had tried to stop, would have still been unable.

Would Dumbledore understand if Harry tried to explain? Would he stop this _removal_, this death? It was worth a try. Harry couldn't bring himself to speak, but he motioned for paper , and managed to scrawl a note.

_I don't want them taken out. They saved my life once. I figured out what spell he kept trying to use on me. It was the Killing Curse. Nothing is supposed to guard against it, but this did._

He paused for a moment , but couldn't think of what else to add. He passed it to Dumbledore, who read it with a neutral expression.

"I see," he said, "But I really think that having those shards removed would be in your best interests."

Harry shook his head again, sharply, and walked out of Dumbledore's office.

Writing a letter to the Dursleys was almost as bad as talking to them. He tried to hit on the points that would matter most to them, which required too much thought. He had to provide both sides of a dialogue that was painful enough when he only had to come up with one.

_Dear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia,_

Harry crossed out the 'dear'- suck up, Uncle Vernon would say. Harry thought for a moment about what to say, and finally decided that an outright lie would serve him best.

_Wizarding School is as bad as your warned me it would be. Though I have made a few friends, we never have a chance to have any _normal_ fun. The only sport here is 'Quidditch" which is played on broomsticks and can be fatal if you fall. I've been able to handle life so far, but now they want to force me into some sort of freakish surgery. Please, if you get any letters asking for permission, don't give it. Life is pretty bad already. I don't want bits of me taken out and sold. Don't let them know I sent you this letter or you could be in danger too. They might say the surgery is for something else, but don't believe them. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I can't wait to come home._

He hoped this would be effective. It would really be better if he could think of a lie that would involve himself getting hurt by not having surgery, but he couldn't come up with a convincing one. The Dursleys might sign any forms that came to them out of spite, with what he had. Biting the end of his quill, he added the line "and it would cost quite a bit of money." He made a prettier draft, burned the old one, and took the new to the Owlry.

"Here, Hedwig," he said, and tied it to her leg, "Take it to the Dursleys."

Hedwig nipped him, drawing a single drop of silver blood. The wound closed. She didn't seem to notice that it was a different color than usual, and flew off.

Harry licked the blood from his finger. It still tasted the same to him, or so close that he couldn't tell the difference. Perhaps if he were a vampire, he would notice. But then, a vampire probably wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place.

He went to bed that night hoping that they needed consent, and that the Dursleys would be helpful for once in their lives.

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Ron and Hermione didn't know anything about what had happened with the stone. They were leaving soon, though. Harry finally broke the silence to tell them on the day before they all left for the summer holiday. He would have stayed mute on the subject, except that he scraped his knee and didn't wipe the silver away before Hermione noticed. He never would have thought it was so hard to hide the color of his blood.

"What is that, Harry?" Hermione had asked, looking at the shiny place on the ground. He'd shrugged , and wished he had robes on over his trousers. They were walking near the lake, enjoying the sunlight and warmth. He rubbed out any sign of the silver with his shoe. The knee of his pants was wet with it, though. Not enough to soak it, but enough to see.

"Did you…your knee went into it?" Hermione asked, "That looks like unicorn blood. We ought to tell Hagrid. I thought it was You-Know-Who that had been hunting them."

Her voice grew louder as she talked, but then she cut off her train of thought, "But there are no other puddles. If one had been injured, it would be-"

Harry ended the conversation by biting his thumb hard enough to draw blood. It was easier to inflict damage on himself now that he knew the pain would last only a few seconds. Still wordlessly, he showed the blood to Hermione, then licked it off his thumb, showing the unblemished skin.

"What-" she started asking but Harry cut her off.

"Elixir of Life," he said, then, pointing at his freckle-scars, "Philosopher's Stone."

He continued walking, and it took a few steps before he turned to see his friends staring at him, eyes and mouths open wide. He'd grinned, shrugged, and then all the words he hadn't been able to say over the last week had come tumbling out.

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"I won't go willingly," Harry told Dumbledore, the next time they met, "I don't want the shards taken out. I'm perfectly happy with things as they stand."

A sad look entered Dumbledore's eyes, but he did not protest. It was at that moment that the door slammed open, with a bang that shook the room so much that a delicate glass scale fell to the ground and smashed.

A man now stood in the doorway, He was tall and strong-looking with brown hair and an amiable smile.

"Albus!" he said, and then the two men embraced.

The Dumbledore turned to Harry once again, "Harry," he said, "this is Mr. Flamel. Nicolas, this is Harry."

The man did not look hundreds of years old. He looked young. There was no grey in his hair and he was solid-looking, not thin or frail at all. It was impossible to tell, looking at them, that Dumbledore was by far the junior.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said, extending his hand a bit awkwardly.

"I'll leave you two alone for a while," Dumbledore said, leaving the room, "I dare say we could use some tea…"

Harry was left standing across from Flamel, wondering what to say.

"Dumbledore told me about the situation," Flamel said, "And what he wanted to see done." He sat in one of the chairs.

"Can you stop him?" Harry asked.

Flamel gave him a long, impenetrable glance, "Why are you so set against this? You're young still. You have decades ahead of you, maybe centuries. What are you afraid of? You crave immortality already?"

"I would be dead already if I hadn't had these stuck into me," Harry lifted his arm, showing the pate dots. They stood out less now than they had a week ago. In a few days they might be unnoticeable.

Flamel stayed silent.

"And…I wouldn't mind, so much, if I knew taking them out was safe. This hasn't ever happened before, though, has it?"

Flamel shook his head.

"My blood isn't red anymore," Harry volunteered. "It's silver. This had done things to me, and I want some proof that they'll come undone before I let anything change."

Flamel nodded, "Compelling arguments. And you aren't worried at all about changes that might still be occurring? Changes to your mind? To your magic? We don't know what will happen to them if you stay like this."

Harry shook his head, "It isn't as worrying to me."

"It should be. The only guarantee you have is that you won't die." He stood. "It isn't as comforting as you might think."

Neither of them had a chance to leave; Dumbledore cam back with tea, and a tray full of sweets.

"Lemon drop, anyone?"

The rest of the students left on the train the next day.

"We can't let you into an area of unprotected Muggles in your present condition. Word probably hasn't spread yet, but there is a chance, and any chance is too great just now."

Dumbledore had been talking for quite some time now.

"Do you know what one drop of your blood would be worth on the black market, Harry?"

Flamel interrupted. "Don't try to scare the boy out of his decision, Albus. You won't change his mind. He's too stubborn for that, and I'm not so sure he's chosen wrong."

Harry had never seen Dumbledore look irritated before. Even now, it might have been his imagination.

"But it is true he'll need guarding. What do you think, Harry? Care to say at my place for the summer?"

_Yes,_ Harry thought, as he agreed, _Dumbledore is annoyed._

Flamel lived in a normal looking two-story white house, which happened to be on the bottom of a lake. They had to wear Bubble-Head Charms to get the front door.

"This is wicked," Harry said.

Flamel smiled, "Indeed."

Only Flamel and his wife lived in the house. There were moments when Harry would wake in the night and think he was alone. But most of the time the house was filled with laughter and an eerie sort of underwater light.

Everyday, Harry had his height, weight, and magical signature recorded.

"We can't be too careful. Nothing seems too different yet, but your magical core is shifting a little. It might be normal, but, then again, it might not be."

After the third day in the house, Harry began to feel restless. The house was full of books, but Harry had never been much of a reader. He preferred action, and took long swims around the house. Once he took the Bubble Head Charm off, just to see what would happen.

"What were you thinking?" Nick yelled as Harry vomited up lake water, "What possessed you to think that that was a good idea?"  
"It wasn't gong to kill me," Harry said, when he had improved a bit, "I just wondered what it _would _do."

Flamel scowled, "What were you expecting, something nice then?"

Harry shrugged, "I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again."

He coughed deeply. There was water deep in his lungs, still. It hurt.

"Are you going to walk into a fire next? Jump from the top of your House tower? Cut your hand off with a knife? Is that the purpose you're putting your immortality to? Tricks and foolishness? Come"

He showed Harry a room at the top of the house.

"This is my laboratory. Did you know Muggles do potions of a sort?"

Harry shook his head.

"Chemistry, they call it. From Alchemy, you see, two schools emerged. The potion makers, who brew by trial and error, and the chemists, who find basic principles and exploit them to make new creations."

He paced. "The fields are separate now, but they shouldn't be. Look at this."

He showed Harry a jar full of a thick blue liquid. Crystals were glowing on the sides, giving an odd look to the glass.

"Last time this took two months to grow. This time it will take less than one."

"What is it?"

"A new stone, to replace the one you broke. I can still use that one, but it is problematic. The pieces are small. It requires filtration." Flamel shook his head, "This is more for convenience than anything else."

Harry looked at the crystals again.

"Why are they blue? The last one was red."

"They aren't done yet. This is but one step of dozens. I won't have a new stone for years." He scowled. "You won't try something like that again now, will you?"

It took Harry a moment to remember what they had been talking about, "No, sir."

"Don't call me sir. You make me feel old."

Harry just stared, unable to tell if it had been a joke.

Harry did not go swimming much after the accident. Nick would force books onto him. With no idea what was appropriate for an eleven-year-old, he picked out books Harry would never have chosen for himself.

"It's too long," Harry said, gesturing towards the large Dostoevsky novel on the dining room table, "You can't really expect me to read that."

"It's a wonderful book. Give it a try."

Harry scowled, but gave it a shot. After that, the summer went by all too quickly. He stayed with the Flamels the whole time, leaving only to go shopping for school supplies. Then, Harry and Nick wore disguises, which Harry was rather amused bu.

"I feel like I'm in a movie," he told Nick, who smiled a little blankly.

"Movie?"

"It's a Muggle thing. I got to see some when Dudley was watching them on the telly."

Nick did not ask what a telly was.

All too soon, the summer was over. Nick saw Harry to the train, striking a conversation with Mrs. Weasley on the way.

"Goodbye!" Harry said, with a grin.

"Farewell, Harry. Do come visit over break."

Grinning, Harry went to find Ron and Hermione.

"You never answered any of my owls," Ron said, looking put out.

"I didn't get any," Harry said, "Maybe they couldn't find the house."

On the ride to school, he told them about the lake, and Nick, and alchemy. When they got to school, and through the Welcoming Feast, McGonnagal pulled Harry aside.

"The Headmaster would like to speak to you."

Dumbledore did not look pleased.

"I trust you had a pleasant summer?"

"Yes."

"Have you reconsidered your alternatives regarding the stone?"

"I'd like to keep it. It isn't doing me any harm so far, and it comes in handy, not being able to be harmed."

A sad look entered Dumbledore's eyes.

"I'm afraid the choice is no longer yours. I have obtained permission to proceed from your aunt and uncle. The stone will be removed tomorrow morning, and you will spend a month at home for observation and recovery."

"A month? With _them_?" Harry scowled, "No. No 'procedure' and no Dursleys."

"Family is important. Mr. Flamel did not get agreement to take you for the summer. No word was sent to your aunt and uncle at all, until I thought to tell them myself. Don't you feel that you might have worried them by staying away? By not writing?"

"No. They probably hoped I was dead."

Dumbledore looked pained, "Nevertheless, they are your guardians-"

Harry walked out of the room.

The next morning Madame Pomfrey took him to St. Mungo's.

"I'm here against my will," Harry told the Healer in charge, "I remain unconvinced of the benefits of this procedure and skeptical of its intentions."

The Healer gave a worried look to Madame Pomfrey. She shrugged. Harry was made to lay in a bed without his shirt on while the Healer pointed his wand at the places the stone had pierced Harry. The scars had gone now. Harry hoped that the Healer missed some fragment. Every time one came out, Harry felt more and more tired. He glared with as much intensity as he could muster, but by the time the fifth shard had come out, he was fast asleep.

Harry woke still in the bed at St. Mungo's with the worst headache he had ever felt. He was alone, and his arm, too, ached.

He bit his thumb and was relieved to see that his blood was still silver, and the wound healed instantly as it had before. Were there still a fragment in him, or was it a residual effect of his experience? How long would it last? He absentmindedly rubbed the inner elbow, and felt odd, because the rice-grain-sized lump under the skin was gone.

He tried to sit up, and was overcome by a wave of pain and exhaustion. The world went black for a moment, and then he woke again.

_Alright, then, _he thought,_ No moving. I'll just lay here for a while, then._

He fell asleep again. It was dark when he woke, except for a light under the door. It seemed as if only for a moment had passed, but he knew he could not fall asleep again. He fumbled for his glasses on the stand next to him, but did not try to sit for a few moments. He felt very dizzy for a moment, but did not black out.

He could just make out a candle on the table, but didn't know where he had put his wand. It wasn't in his pocket. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk standing yet, and he was overcome by another wave of weariness that made him lay his head on the pillow once more and sleep.

It was light when he woke, and Nick was there.

"Hullo," Harry croaked, throat dry.

"How are you feeling?" Nick asked. He handed Harry a glass of water and helped him sit up.

"Not well."

"You've been asleep for over a week. One more day, and they were going to put the stone back."

"Should've slept in, then."

"No need," Nick said. "It grew back on its own."

There was a bright look in his eyes, "It's extraordinary. A process to grow stones in days, rather than years. And guaranteed immortality- a source of elixir, right in the blood…" He grinned. "Welcome to the immortal club."

And then Nick held out his arm, showing Harry the one white dot under his elbow.

**A/N: So, this is a plot bunny that has been nibbling the edges of my brain lately. I decided to write it down before it finished eating my entire brain. **

**I could blame any typos on my good friend who's typing this up for me, but she's probably fixed dozens of mistakes in here already. I'm one of the only people I know that can make typos while writing things out by hand…**

**Incidentally, I learned today that Nicolas Flamel was a real person, and he left a recipe to make the Stone. Unfortunately, it isn't very specific, and makes a lot of references to things like "the first-born of Jupiter in nine parts" that nobody really knows what are. So even if it worked, it wouldn't be too much use, since you couldn't make it...**

**Please review!**


	2. Welcome to the Madhouse

**Chapter 2- Welcome to the Madhouse**

Harry returned to Hogwarts a few days after recovering. There was no talk of his returning to the Dursleys. There was very little talk of anything, on Dumbledore's part. Nick was the one that initiated conversations. 

"Harry's staying with me," he told Dumbledore. "No sense in keeping him with the Muggles, eh?"

Dumbledore did not say anything to this. He just nodded.

"Why does he look so sad?" Harry asked Nick one day before he returned to school. "Shouldn't he be happy for me?"

Nick took a moment to respond, "Albus has different views on death than most people. He thinks it isn't healthy to avoid it."

"It isn't like I tried to. But even if removing the bits of stone had made me mortal again, I don't see how that would have been a good thing."

"I don't either, which is the main point where Dumbledore seems to have parted way with me in his thinking."

Harry shrugged.

His return to school was not momentous. Nick had told him to lie to people, to tell them that the extraction had been a success. Everybody by now knew why Harry had been gone; someone at St. Mungo's had leaked that much information and there were articles in the Prophet about it. 

Harry did, of course, tell Ron and Hermione the truth, though Nick had been against it.

"Secrets told have a way of spreading," he said, "but keeping them from friends is usually unwise. If you feel you must tell them, do so, but with caution."

Classes started with Harry very behind, so he wasn't surprised when he did badly to start with. Madame Pomfrey had a look at him anyway, and claimed that his magical core was exhausted and needed a break. He wasn't allowed to do magic for another week, to give it a chance to recover. 

"And it's no wonder," she muttered, "after what you've been through!"

Madam Pomfrey, of course, knew the truth. She had to, as the school nurse.

His magic came back, but not for another week after she had predicted it would. Even then, Harry had trouble in his classes. There was less power in his charms, and his transfigurations stopped halfway through and would not start again.

"You magic is back at full strength," Madame Pomfrey said, "Let's wait another week or so, and then see how you're doing."

Harry walked out of the Hospital Wing with a feeling that something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, though, and decided that it was just the awful headache he had. Immortal, he thought, does not mean pain free. The thought was oddly comforting.

"Been a little sick then, Potter? A little _weak_?"

"Bugger off, Malfoy." 

Malfoy smiled. It did not look natural, but it wasn't his usual smirk, "I've heard rumors, you know. People tell my father things, and I overhear."

"Good for you." 

Malfoy looked around the hallway. It was empty.

"They say you've got the Philosopher's Stone."

"Don't believe everything you hear."

"So you won't mind, then, if I tell more people? The Daily Prophet, for instance?"

Harry's wand was in his hand now, but he did not remember getting it out. 

"I see I've hit a nerve, Potter. Care to negotiate terms?"

"What?"

"I'm blackmailing you, you imbecile." Malfoy began speaking very slowly. "I _won't_ tell anyone- but I want something in return."

"What, then?"

"Enough Elixir to last the rest of my life- forever, in other words. I'll need a bit once a week- I don't want to be carrying so much that it's worth killing me for it, after all. Understand?"

Harry nodded, malice in his face. "Perfectly."

"I'm not leaving Hogwarts, Nick."

"It isn't safe."

"If he leaks the story, everyone will know. _Nowhere_ will be safe."

"He'll have to be Obliviated." 

"It's too late for that. He had precautions in place. He explained them, and I can't see any way around them."

"Well, what are they?"

"Notes with his mother and father. Notes in the bank. House-elves hidden away, waiting to remind him."

"That does sound like an impregnable defense. I suppose we do have one other option."

"What?"

"The Unbreakable Vow."

They did the vow the next day.

"I swear not to breathe a word about the Philosopher's Stone in connection to Potter so long as he continues to bring Elixir to me."

"I swear to bring Elixir to Malfoy unless he does something awful or new about the stone gets out otherwise."

It was done.

"Where is it, Potter?"

Harry held out a small glass full of molten sliver, "Here." He gave it to Malfoy, along with a little bottle, also full, "Drink it."

Malfoy took a sip, and Harry turned away.

"Tastes funny," Malfoy said, and drank the rest.

"That's because it's made from blood," Harry said, and was pleased to see Malfoy's expression turn sour. 

"Blood?"

"Human blood. Mine, actually. What did you think it was made of?"

Malfoy looked sick. "I don't know. A potion of some sort." He shrugged, and recomposed himself, "Well-Thank you."

Then he walked away, bottle tucked securely into his bag and charmed not to break. 

Harry felt a little dizzy for a few hours after that. Blood loss was tricky; even the Stone couldn't create fluid from nothing. It only turned blood to Elixir. It took time to make more blood.

His magic continued to be off-kilter. Sometimes he could do spells better than he's been able to before. Others, he couldn't do at all, no matter how much he practiced. He went to see Madame Pomfrey yet again. 

"You're magic is shifting," she said after running diagnostic tests on him, "It's switching to passive mode."

"Passive mode?"

"Magic comes in two forms. Magical animals and some Muggles have passive magic. Their magic is not under their conscious control. It is a part of who they are."

"Then what is it _for_?"

"For many of them, it just keeps them alive. Nature has limitations that magic helps overcome. For others…Well, take hippogriffs. Half horse, half bird. There wouldn't be any ay for them to fly without passive magic." 

"But wizard magic is active?"

"For the most part, yes. Some boosts the immune system, increases lifespan. Spells are active magic, though."

"And mine is changing?"

"Yes."

"How do we fix it?"

"We don't." She looked surprised that he had even asked, "Messing with a person's magic is a sure way to kill them."

"It won't kill _me_."

"Don't be so sure. That Stone feeds on something, and I'm betting it's your magic. Take the magic, and how will it work?"

Harry shook his head, "Fine. Let me lose my magic."

"You aren't losing it. It's just going to be different now. Do you know what creature has nothing but passive magic?"

"What?"

"A phoenix. And as a result, they live for thousands of years, have amazing healing powers, and can become wiser than many humans."

Harry shrugged. "So?"

She gave him a hug. "Don't worry. I'll talk to your teachers. You aren't going to get bad marks for this."

"I'm not worried about bad marks."

"What, then?"

Harry did not know how to articulate what he was feeling. He had lived with the Dursleys so long, had been told so many times that he wasn't special, that he was a freak…And then had come Hagrid, and magic. He didn't want to lose it now. 

He shrugged. 

"It will work out, dear. You'll see."

That night Harry tried to take the stupid Stone out himself. It had been a less-than-perfectly executed plan. He'd been in the bathroom, and the larger lump in his inner arm had started bothering him with its irregularity. He'd rubbed at it, and finally grabbed Dean's razor (no whiskers yet, but he was getting prepared) and sliced the darn thing out. 

Ron, of course, had walked in at that exact moment, and had stopped dead at the sight of the silver blood.

"Bloody fucking hell," he said, "Harry?"

Harry shrugged, "I had to get it out," he said, "It was bothering me."

He held up the little red stone, smaller than a grain of rice, and felt an absurd amount of satisfaction. 

Ron took the razor and the stone away, cleaned the floor with lightening speed, and took Harry to Madame Pomfrey. Wordlessly, he handed the bit of Stone to Madame Pomfrey. She grabbed Harry's arm and looked at the place the stone had been. There was a large scar there now, but it looked faded, old.

"Why?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. 

"I walked in on him," Ron said, "There was blood everywhere. In full sight, too! Anyone could have seen."

She looked again at the scare, "If you were anyone else, I'd say you were suicidal. I can't see what you were trying to accomplish by this. Haven't you already proven that they come back?"

Harry had to stay in the Hospital Wing that night, a house-elf by his side observing him.

The scar was gone in the morning, and the stone was back. 

By the time the year ended, Harry could do no magic, except the occasional charm. When he looked in the mirror, he did not see a wizard anymore. Even his lightning bolt scar, the only thing about his appearance that he really liked- or had, at least, before he learned how he got it- was gone. No scars could last on his skin for long, now.

Summer break was a welcome relief. He and Nick went to a beach. Harry was not sure exactly where it was, but it was warm and deserted. 

"Don't go too far," Nick said when Harry went swimming, "There's sometimes an undertow. You don't want to be washed out to sea and eaten by a shark."

Harry laughed and Nick frowned, "It isn't funny. Do you really think the Stone will save you? The shark would become immortal. Or, worse, you'd be alive, but floating in chunks."

Harry grimaced, but he really wasn't afraid. 

There were not sharks that day, or any other.

Harry was careful to send some Elixir to Draco every week. 

The school year started again and Harry could not do a single spell. After a week or so of discussion between teachers, Nick, Dumbledore, and Madame Pomfrey, Harry left Hogwarts for good. 

"We're going to live like Muggles!" Nick announced the very next day, "It will be a grand adventure!"

Harry was not so optimistic, "Have you ever tried before?"

Nick smiled, "Back in 1893. Muggles can't have changed that much since then." 

Harry laughed.

The next few days were spent buying and reading books. Harry would skim them, and burst out laughing at the absurdity of the information.

"These books don't know anything about clothes," Harry said. "Nobody wears things like these any more."

"Ah, well, fashion might be very different in the Americas."

"What? Why would we go there?"

"Security, my boy. Over here you're the Boy-Who-Lived. There, you aren't anything special, especially among the Muggles."

Harry frowned, "I don't know anything about America."

Nick grinned, "You'll learn. We'll both learn. And if we seem a bit strange to them- well, we're travelers from afar, and much will be excused."

Learning was much easier when they found Muggle bookshops. Whatever flaws Muggles had, they were much more reliable about information. 

That night Harry had trouble sleeping. The scar is gone, he thought. The magic is gone. My blood, my old self, that's gone too. What's left of me?

_Several Years Later_

"So are you coming to the movie, Harry?"

"Sorry. Dad wants me to work at the hospital today."

Nick was a 'faith healer' at a local hospital. Unlike most faith healers, however, he actually had a measurable success rate. Like Harry, his blood was silver. Unlike Harry, he still had magic.

"Oh, c'mon, Harry. You're always working. Doesn't he ever give you a break?"

"He would if I asked, but I don't really want one. I like helping people."

"What do you actually do there, though? It isn't going to hurt anyone if you miss a day."

_I bleed into the mouths of the dying_, Harry did not say, _to give them a few days-maybe months or years- of life_. Instead he shrugged.

"Talk. A little human comfort goes a long way. I'll go next time, Mike, I promise."

There was a lot of bleeding to do that day: the weekly shipment of Malfoy's silence, and the drops slipped into a car-crash victim. It made him tired, as it always did, but it was worth it, to see the near-dead rise and ask if they could watch their favorite show on the telly, or insist that they be released at once.

As for Malfoy- well, Harry would have stopped sending the Elixir a long time ago if he could have found a way out of the Vow. The git never even sent a thank-you note, though he had sent a box of Honeydukes sweets the Christmas Harry was thirteen. That was years ago now. Hedwig returned with empty bottles; that was the only indication that Malfoy was still alive.

The walk home from the hospital was a short one. It was a warm night and Harry was very relaxed when he got there. Nick left the lights on again, Harry thought, walking up the driveway. He should really stop doing that; he's wasting electricity. 

Nick had never really adapted to Muggle life.

Harry made a cup of tea and took it upstarts to his room. The house was chilly compared to the warm air outside. Harry shivered and took a sip of the tea, then pushed open the door to his room. 

As usual, the floor was clear, the desk tidy. Everything was in place-everything but the blonde teenager asleep in Harry's bed.

Harry did not drop his cup of tea or in any other way show surprise. He calmly put his things down and shook the blond awake.

"Who are you," Harry said, trying to infuse every word with fury, "and what the hell are you doing in my house?"

Blearily, the boy blinked awake, stretched and sat up. 

Finally Harry recognized the face.

"Malfoy," he said. As he looked again, though, he was sure he couldn't be right. The boy in front of him was too young.

"Oh. Hello, Potter. I was wondering when you'd get here."

"That isn't my name anymore," Harry said, "It's Flamel, now. Harry Flamel."

Malfoy scowled. "Flamel, then. What took you so long to get here? I've been waiting for hours."

Harry didn't know what to say for a minute, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Malfoy smirked, "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to break off the Vow. I don't want the Elixir anymore."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Why?"

Malfoy shrugged, "What's it to you, Pott-Flamel."

"You can call me Harry, if you like."

Malfoy stared for a moment, "Harry."

"Yeah. We don't do last names here, much. Whenever someone uses mine, I end up looking over my shoulder for Dad."

There was a long, awkward silence as Draco worked out that Harry meant Nick. Harry enjoyed watching Malfoy squirm for the few seconds it took..

"I just…I don't need the Elixir anymore, alright?"

"Is there a way to undo the Vow?" 

"Yes. Another Vow, where we vow not to hold each other responsible for-what's so funny?"

Harry was laughing, but it wasn't happy laughter. He didn't stop for several minutes, during which Draco's face took on a more and more concerned look. 

"Pott-Harry? Are you alright?"

Finally Harry regained control of himself, "I'm sorry. I've been wishing for years now that I could stop bleeding myself, and now you've come to offer my heart's desire. There's only one problem. I'm not a wizard anymore, Malfoy. I can't make another Vow. I'm stuck with the one we've already made, unless you have a better plan."

There was a moment of shocked silence.

"What do you mean, you aren't a wizard anymore?"

"My magic is passive. Dormant. Dead. I can't do a single spell. Muggle-repelling charms are completely effective on me-Dad put one on the house when we first moved here, and I couldn't find my way home from school. You understand? I have no magic."

Malfoy backed away slightly, as though Harry had some communicable disease, "Why?"

"The damn Philosopher's Stone stole it. You should leave now. Here take this," Harry handed him a small bottle of silver, "I was gong to Owl it to you, but seeing as you're here…"

Malfoy made no move to leave. He stared at the silver bottle in his hands, "I don't want it."

"I don't care."

"It made me stop growing, you know. I had a little every day of second year and third. Didn't grow an inch. I turned fourteen and still looked twelve. That was when Father found out. I haven't been allowed any since." He looked at the bottle again, then opened it and drank in one gulp what should have lasted a week. 

"I thought you didn't want it."

"I couldn't exactly take it back with me. Father would just take it."

Harry scowled at the thought of Lucius Malfoy getting Elixir.

"But then," Malfoy continued, "I don't plan on going back home. I don't fancy a… a Ministry job, and that's all Father will hear of," he lay back done on Harry's bed, "Perhaps I'll stay here."

"No."

"Well, not _here_, of course. I do realize that you need this bed. However, you seem to have a spare-"

"No. Get out, Malfoy."

The innocent expression Malfoy was trying to effect did not fool Harry.

"Call me Draco."

"Get out, Draco."

"I don't have anywhere else to go. I'll end up wandering the streets, begging for knuts, until I starve and die."

"Great. Then I won't have to send you anymore Elixir."

As he said this, he felt a twinge in the back of his skull. He couldn't... No. He could.

"Your owl won't be able to find me. The Vow will kill you."

"We'll just have to see if it's stronger that the Stone, then, won't we?" 

Draco scowled, sensing that the battle was lost, and walked out of the house.

A/N:

Well- this was the first half of chapter two, really. It got far too long and I had to split it up. The next half will be up in a few days, when I proof-read it and make some minor edits. Thank-yous go to Zephyras, who typed this up for me from the Notebook of Ambiguous Handwriting, and to all the lovely people who reviewed the last chapter. You know who you are, and you rock!

I have lots of exciting things planned for later chapters. You shall see- mwahahaha! 

Please review! 


	3. You Can't Run

**Chapter 3- You Can't Run**

A week after he went away, Draco was back, looking a lot dirtier and a bit wiser.

"Go home," Harry said, when Draco showed up at the door, "Why are you hanging around here?"

"Are you stupid?" Draco asked, "Don't you know what England is like right now, Pott-Harry?"

"No. In case it's escaped your notice, I've been in America for the past few years."

"There's a war on."

"Oh, really?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! The Dark Lord is taking over. They plan to kill Dumbledore next, and the Hogwarts will be unprotected."

"You-Know-Who is _dead_. I killed him myself, when I was eleven."

"He isn't dead. He's very alive, and stronger that he was last time, and… They're…He wanted me to help, which is why I'm here. Even if I could kill Dumbledore-which I can't- I don't want to. I'm not that fond of the Dark Lord." The admission seemed to pain him. "Hopefully, Mother and Father are running too."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "And all of this is true? If I checked the papers, would I find this?"

"Not. He's got the papers. You will find a lot of articles on Pureblood superiority, but they aren't very interesting and they don't- they don't really make any sense. Nobody argues with them, but… They've run out of reasons, and they're just making things up, now."

Harry was inclined to let the blonde stay on the doorstep for a while, but relented. Obviously _something_ was wrong back at Hogwarts, or Malfoy wouldn't be desperately running away. And there was always the chance that he was telling the truth.

"Well…I suppose you can stay here for a while. Assuming, of course, that what you say is true."

"Excellent. Can I come in, then?"

Harry opened the door wider, "Shoes come off at the door."

Draco took off his shoes, looking suddenly nervous, "Do you want something to drink?" Harry asked, "Tea, or a soda?"

"Er…tea would be very good, thank you."

They sat down at the kitchen table, and sipped warm tea, Draco looking more uncomfortable every minute.

Finally, he blurted out: "How can you stand it?"

"Hmm?"

"You're living like a _Muggle_."

"I am a Muggle. If you can't handle that, maybe you should find another place to hide."

"You aren't a Muggle. Squib, maybe."

"Same difference."

"It isn't. Have you seen a Healer?"

"No. There isn't any point. None of them know about the Stone. There's only one Healer that knows anything about it at all, ands he lives in this house."

"You could still try. You've just… given up on it all."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Harry put his cup down and stood up, not caring that Draco wasn't finished. "Let me show you to your room."

Draco did not fit in well with the Flamel household. He was loud, he whined, and he never once said thank you- not when they let him into the house, in the first place, not when Nick took him shopping for Muggle clothes, and certainly not when they enrolled him in school- as a freshman.

"I don't want to learn Muggle things."

"If you want to hide out in this house, young man, you need to avoid suspicion. It looks odd if you stay here all day. You need to go to school."

"You enrolled me as a Fourth Year."

"A freshman. Yes. You're very behind. Muggle schools teach different things. Besides, you look fourteen."

Draco glared across the room at Harry. Harry stuck out his tongue. It wasn't as if Draco had been avoiding the Elixir, even recently.

"But school is almost out for the summer."

"You aren't going yet. You will be attending summer school, since you are very behind."

"What exactly do Muggles learn that's so hard?"

Harry grinned. "Have you ever heard of calculus?"

Draco glared, and resumed his whining.

It was inevitable that someone would discover Draco's presence, so Harry didn't even try to hide him.

"This is my crazy English cousin," he said when his friends came over, "His name is Draco, but don't get too close-he bites."

"Very funny," Draco said, "We're out of Pepsi. Did you get any from the store on your way home?"

"No. Lay off the caffeine. You're going to make yourself sick. C'mon, Mike, let's go upstairs."

Harry did not invite friends over often. They were…messy. Mike was one of the few that wear allowed near Harry's bedroom; he put Harry's CDs back on the shelf once he had looked at them, was generally tidy, and didn't ask many questions.

Today, it didn't matter much. Draco had trashed Harry's room while looking for his new favorite pair of jeans-which had turned out to be in his own room, under the bed.

"Dear Lord," Mike said, "Have aliens come and given you a personality transplant? What _happened_ to this place?"

"_Draco _happened to it. There isn't even a point in cleaning it up; he'll be back the minute I do, insisting that I took his socks."

Harry flopped onto the bed, and put his arm over his eyes, "He's such a pain."

"Why is he staying with you guys here?"

"Problems at school, and with his parents. They shipped him overseas, and now we have to deal with him."

"Tough luck."

Just then, a yell came from downstairs.

"I need money, Harry! We're all out of soda and I 'm going to buy some!"

"No. You've had plenty!"

Draco appeared in the doorway, "But I'm making up for lost time! I've only had twenty in my whole life!"

"And every single one of them, you had today. You'll have to find another source to feed your addiction."

Downstairs, the door slammed shut.

"Excellent," Draco said, "Nick is home."

He stuck his tongue out, making him look even younger, and then walked out of the room.

"He's never had soda before?"

"See? I told you he was odd. He went to a weird boarding school, and they didn't let the students have much. I went there until I was twelve, but I got out. The freedom is still rushing to his head, I guess."

Mike seemed to accept this explanation.

"Have you heard my band's new CD?" he asked, and then they were back on familiar territory.

A moment later, Nick came up, "Did you let Draco have all the Pepsi in the house?"

Harry shrugged, "He's not five. He should know better."

Nick shook his head and walked out.

"Wow," Mike said, "That kid is a substance abuse problem waiting to happen."

Harry flinched involuntarily, but Mike didn't seem to notice. He thought of the way Draco had gulped down the first vial of Elixir, after insisting he never wanted any again. Waiting? Draco had already happened, and there was nothing Harry could do to stop him.

Summer was easier. Harry worked at the clinic most days, though at the moment they didn't have any seriously ill patients- just a few old ladies with arthritis who were finding conventional therapy ineffective. Harry didn't have to do anything for them; Nick could handle pain quite efficiently with spells. Harry did small jobs instead; emptying garbage cans, making coffee. Even these tasks were comforting.

Best of all, Draco was gone at school for most of the day, so Harry could enjoy the house alone. They had reached a sort of uneasy equilibrium. Draco did not enter Harry's room except under dire need, and Harry did not interrupt Draco's steady stream of sugar, coffee, and chocolate.

"Muggles are on to good things," Draco often commented while stuffing his face, "I suppose they can't be that bad."

"Where are you getting the money for all this?"

Draco gave him an insulted look, "As if I would reveal my sources to you."

"Sources? You're fourteen."

"Seventeen. Stupid Elixir."

"You keep drinking it."

"Only because you keep giving it to me."

Draco shoved a small chocolate bar into his mouth, and Harry was reminded sickeningly of Dudley, whom he'd sworn to never think of again. The only difference was that Draco was thinner and smarter.

"You shouldn't eat everything people put in front of you," Harry commented blandly.

Draco glared, then shrugged.

"Bugger off, Harry."

Draco did not make any friends at school; he was too edgy, and everyone could tell that there was something slightly _off _about him. The way he talked, peppering his speech with "Oh, Merlin's" and forgetting the names of simple things like pencils or computers. For all his loneliness, he never talked to Harry, except to comment on the war.

"Prisoners of Azkaban've all been released," he would mention, or "Hogwarts has fallen."

He regularly received letters and newspapers.

Harry, for his part, ignored as much of it as he could, trying to avoid thoughts of Ron and Hermione, whom he hadn't seen for years, but had written to for a time. If they weren't dead yet, they soon would be. There was nothing Harry could do about it. He was a Muggle now, with no means to fight Voldemort. A hand gun would certainly be no good against a wand. No Muggle weapon would be. Harry's only advantage in a fight was his immortality and that wouldn't stop a basic full-body binding hex from freezing him in his tracks.

Just before the new school year started, a letter arrived for Nick via owl.

No owls should have been able to find them. The ones that kept coming to Draco were bad enough, but hopefully no one would make the connection between Draco Malfoy and the Flamels. This, though, was bad. Security had been compromised. Nick, however, didn't seem too worried. He took the letter into his room and spent several minutes drafting a reply before he said to Harry and Draco: "We're returning to England."

Then in a tone that was quite grave, he turned to Draco, "Would you like to be immortal?"

Harry was too shocked to say anything for a moment. So, it seemed, was Draco, who could only manage a "What?"

Without asking, Nick grabbed Harry's hand and slashed a line across his palm Elixir came out for half a second before the wound sealed.

"What?" Draco said again, but something was dawning in his eyes.

"You could have asked," Harry said, trying to get his hand from Nick's vice-like grip, "That stung."

Nick did not let go.

"Would you like that? Your own personal supply of Elixir that no one could ever take away."

There was hunger in Draco's eyes.

"How?" he asked.

"Give me a shard, Harry."

"What?"

"The big one under your elbow will do nicely."

He released Harry's arm and handed him a small knife. "We need a shard of the stone to make him immortal."

"Get another."

"The others don't work. Only the ones that come from you."

"What?"

Nick took the knife himself and cut a line across his own palm. The blood was red.

"They don't re-grow in other people," he said, "When I took mine out, I was merely human again. And when I put a new shard in, there was no effect. Only yours work, Harry, and I'm afraid the one I had is mixed with fresh shards. I haven't the faintest idea which, of the hundreds in my lab, was once yours."

Harry would not take the knife back. He began to back away, slowly. With what looked like visible effort, Draco spoke. "I don't need your stone. If I could get you to stop giving me Elixir I would, because then I could stop drinking the damn stuff."

Nick gave them both a long glance, then tucked the knife away into a pocket, "Fine. We're still going to England. They need Healers, and…Dumbledore wants to examine you, Harry. He has suspicions, and news."

"School is starting soon."

"There are more important things."

"It isn't my war. Leave it alone."

Nick gave him a sad look, then turned away, "Pack your bags, boys. We leave in an hour."

Sullenly, Harry crammed unfolded clothes into an old book bag he never used any more, along with a few books and his toothbrush. There was no time to even say goodbye to his friends, but Harry didn't regret that too much; he hasn't been that close to any of them. How could he be? These was a whole world out there that he couldn't tell them about, and even when he was supposed to be relaxed, he had to guard his worlds carefully. Even without magic, it was a relief to go back.

Why had Harry been trying to kid himself? He wasn't a Muggle. He was a squib- not at home in either world.

Ron and Hermione were waiting at Headquarters- a fairly normal-looking Muggle home that reminded Harry uneasily of the Dursleys. There were extra rooms added on with magic, however. Rooms that should by all rights have been closets were giant bedrooms, squeezed into improbable places so that a blueprint of the house would look more like a children's pop-up book than a piece of paper. Dumbledore had been at work.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said.

Somehow, Harry had not expected them to have gotten older. So much time had passed, and he kept expecting everything to be the same as he'd left it. Draco was, after all. Nick was. Even Harry himself to some extent…

Harry smiled in return, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt, "Hi."

Giving him a huge, Hermione said, "There are some things we have to tell you."

After a moment, Ron too came forward, and gave Harry an awkward slap on the back, "Good to have you back."

There was something in his face, however- a flicker, or a shadow- that suggested he was not a happy as he was trying to sound.

Then they sat down at the kitchen table and began to talk.

"Our only hope," Hermione said, "Is that someone will kill Voldemort. And…that might not even be possible. Have you ever heard of Horcruxes, Harry?"

Over the next half hour, Hermione explained what a Horcrux was and how they'd destroyed several so far.

"The first we found was a diary, but we didn't know it was one, then. This was near the end of second year. Do you remember Luna Lovegood?"

Harry shook his head.

"She was a year behind us; a Ravenclaw, and a friend of Ginny's."

Harry struggled for a moment to remember who Ginny was, but then placed her. Ron's little sister.

"Voldemort put a piece of his soul in that diary. Luna was lonely. When she wrote in it, it wrote back, and gradually it began to take her soul as well. He made her open the Chamber of Secrets. By the time we figured out what was happening, he'd made her kill three people, and he ate her soul to make a new body for himself," Hermione smiled grimly, "I was the one who killed _that_ Voldemort."

As she explained what had happened, Harry could clearly picture it in his head; brave, bushy-haired twelve-year old Hermione, face-to-face with a much older, stronger, Tom Riddle. Both had their wands out. Both stared at each other, Hermione scared and Riddle smug. A simple disarming hex from Hermione; she didn't know any more. By all rights she should have died, but she'd just been in potions and had sense to bring her knife with. More red must have flashed, but this time it was not light and it did not fade; it was blood, and Tom Riddle was saying his last curse.

"That's were I got this," Hermione said, pulling up her sleeve. A large chunk of flesh was missing from her arm, "_Reducto. _I'm not sure why he didn't use the Killing Curse, but it's lucky he didn't."

Hermione smiled again. Now Harry could see the daggers in it; she was not the Hermione he knew.

"You could have gotten it healed," Harry said. "Reducto isn't dark."

"I wanted to keep it. To remember. Isn't that what scars are for?"

He looked down at his hands. There was one scar on his body. It was from yesterday's draining, which would fade by tomorrow. Harry did not scar easily.

"I'll do my best to help," Harry said, "but I don't know that I'll be very useful. I'm still a squib. Being the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't help much."

"We need Healers."

"So I can bleed on people. Fair enough. It's what I was doing at home, anyway. Might as well do it here."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

Draco had been standing behind Nick.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, "I heard you'd run away. Sorry to drag you back into this, but at least you're on the right side now. I won't insist you do anything, but I know your potions work is more than up to snuff. Do you care to help us with Polyjuice. We have…others, if that gets boring.

Draco nodded sagely without saying a word.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Harry asked, "I thought the letter was from him."

"He's not well. He tries to hide it, but he doesn't have very long left." She leaned forward conspiratorially, "That's a big reason we need you."

"Again," he said, "I'm happy to bleed on as many people as you need me to."

The Ministry had been taken. Hogwarts had fallen. A few days ago, the last prisoners in Azkaban had escaped. There was no safety anywhere.

"This is our third headquarters this month. Either we have a traitor in our midst, or Voldemort has found a way to break Fidelius. Either way, it doesn't bode well for us."

Harry scowled, "Give everyone a truth potion then. Figure out which it is, at least."

Hermione's eyes widened, "That would be a monstrous violation of privacy."

"Not if you just asked them that one question."

"It's illegal."

"It's practical. And you told me that the Ministry was his, anyway. What do you care if you break the law?"

Hermione frowned. "No."

"You don't seem too intent on winning this war."

"You have no idea what we've been doing, Harry," she said, remaining clam, "You've been gone, and we've been fighting. Don't presume to tell me what to do." She stood and left the room.

Harry stood, "I'm tired," he said to Ron, who was standing in the corner, looking peeved, "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

He was shown to a room with three beds and a great deal of dirty clothing strewn about.

"Sorry," Ron said, not really sounding as if he was. "Neville and I are in this one as well. You can have the one in the corner."

He hadn't brought sheets, but there were extras. Once Ron had left, however, Harry didn't feel like sleeping. He pulled an empty glass bottle from his pack. Draco was here, and would be needing elixir tomorrow. Harry had left all the Elixir at home.

There were probably better ways of bleeding himself than using the knife, but he didn't know what they might be. Nick had mentioned that continual blood-draining spells were dangerous and illegal, and Harry wasn't sure that any Muggle methods existed. What he did know was that the knife was pain; Harry healed too quickly for more than a few drops to escape. He could get more if he cut a major vein, but that was painful and messy. It was much easier to make a small one a collect the few drops over and over until he had a full bottle. This took at least half an hour, and left scars that took hours to heal. It was an activity best suited to the hours before bed; by the time he woke, all evidence would be gone, which helped him avoid awkward questions. Unfortunately, he didn't finish before Neville wandered in.

"Harry!" he said, "I heard you came- what are you doing?!"

Harry wiped a drop from his thumb into the vial, "What does it look like?"

"You're bleeding silver," Neville said again after a moment, "And slicing up your fingers."

"Exactly. This is Elixir of Life, and it's going to Draco."

"What?"

"I give him a bottle every week."

"You bleed the Elixir of Life."

"Yes." Harry resumed his finger slicing.

There was a moment of tense silence, interrupted by a hiss from Harry when he cut too deeply.

"Bloody hell," Neville finally said, "That would have come in useful a month ago."

"Hmm?"

"That was when we lost Charlie Weasley. A little Elixir would've healed him easily."

Harry shrugged. "You have me now, for what it's worth. I'm warning you; I won't be any use, otherwise. I'm a squib now. Not a drop of magic."

Neville frowned, "I thought that was just a rumor."

There was still half a bottle to fill, but Harry paused for a moment, "I've been living as a Muggle," he said, "for nearly five years now. The rumors were true."

Neville sat down on the bed next to Harry's, and a pained look crossed his face for an instant before disappearing into a reassured look," But still," he said, "Elixir of Life. Bet not many people know about that."

Harry retuned to his work, "No," he said, "They don't."

"Oh!" Neville said suddenly, "Dumbledore wanted to see you. He's in the kitchen."

Dumbledore didn't look as impressive as he once had. His eyes had lost most of their twinkle, and he was much thinner. He looked _old _in a way that he never had before. Worst of all was his hand, a burned-looking useless claw that Harry doubted Dumbledore could even move. "Harry," Dumbledore said. For a second the twinkle came back, and Dumbledore looked himself. Then it was gone.

"Sir," Harry said in return.

The kitchen was empty. Clearly, the two of them were being left alone for their conversation.

"There are things that I ought to have told you years ago," Dumbledore said, "that I must now tell, Have you heard what a Horcrux is?"

"Yes, sir. Hermione mentioned it earlier."

"Good. Sit down, Harry. Would you care for some tea? A lemon drop?"

Harry accepted this gratefully. He was always hungry after draining even a little blood.

"Do you ever feel violent rages?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, "Irrational times, when you lash out and hurt others?"

"No."

"Any emotions at all that…seem inappropriate to the moment?"

"No, sir."

Dumbledore sighed, "May I perform a few spells?"

Harry nodded.

"I will need to enter your mind."

There was a tingling sensation in his eyes and near the back of his head, and then memories were flashing across his vision. There was Aunt Petunia, years ago, shouting at him. There was the day he left Hogwarts forever. There was his math final last year. And then-

Voldemort was holding a long, sharp, shard of Stone. The moment seemed frozen, and slowly Harry's eyes flickered to the shard, and then the ground where thousands more shards lay, waiting for someone to…

"No," dream-Harry breathed.

Voldemort chuckled, "Avada…"

-but Harry was already diving before the ground, a sense of fear drowning all senses. _Something _had told him that spell was evil. _Something _had made him react faster to it, had made him dive.

Back in the kitchen, Harry said, "Is that what you wanted to see?"

"Not yet," Dumbledore said.

The pain of the Stone piercing him was far-away in the memory. And then the green light hit.

Harry had always remembered this part as a black hole. He'd blanked out for a few seconds. But with Dumbledore's intervention, he could feel something ripping away, a pain in his head and his scar. And then he was fully aware again, and the battle commenced.

"Is that it, then?" Harry asked from his real body, still seated in front of a cup of tea in the kitchen. He blinked away the memory and took a sip.

"Yes," Dumbledore said with a sign of relief, "You are not a Horcrux anymore. You once were, and that is what saved you from the curse."

"What? I thought the Stone-"

"The Stone could not protect you. Remember; it had one power: to make Elixir. It didn't have the chance to do that in the brief second it was in you. No, Harry, the Horcrux saved you. The spell can only kill one soul at a time, and by luck, it rid you of a piece of Voldemort's soul instead of destrying your own. You would have died with the next curse, if you hadn't had the Stone."

Something about this did not sit well with Harry, but he remained silent.

"However, here are more important matters. There is a prophecy, Harry, which may relate to you."

Dumbledore pushed a pensive forwards Harry. The prophecy was revealed.

Before Harry went back to bed, he finished filling Draco's bottle of elixir. A few times he cut a bit deeper than intended and a bit spilled on his sheets. Ron and Neville were both asleep now, and they didn't notice. After a good twenty minutes work, he finished, but wasn't tired. He pulled out another bottle and filled it as well before drifting off.

"Here," he told Draco in the morning, "Elixir for the next two weeks." He laughed a little and patted Draco on the head, "Keep it up and there'll always be at least one person shorter than me here."

Draco gave him a withering glare, and walked away without saying a word. Naturally, now that it was day and Harry needed to be awake, he was exhausted. After an hour of falling asleep in his oatmeal, he went back to bed.

When he woke up, there were two empty bottles on his bedside table.

"Addict," he murmured, before pulling on his glasses and getting out of bed.

I have to save the Wizarding world, Harry thought suddenly, and burst out laughing. No one was in the room, and he was glad, because he couldn't stop.

After a few minutes, he abruptly stopped, and sat down on his bed again.

They want me to save the world. I'm a squib and weird, and I may even be going slightly mad. Why me?

The he looked at his fingers, still slightly scarred from the night before. Because I'm the only one he can't kill. Because I can hurt him with my touch. But if I were to be captured, the results could be awful. Voldemort with my blood…And a Stupefy could do it. A leg-locker curse could do it. I have no defenses, except against something fatal. And there's no such thing as excessive force if your victim can't die.

He didn't feel much like getting out of bed anymore.

Perhaps he dozed off, starring at the ceiling. No time seemed to have passed when he heard the knock on the door, but the clock on his bedside table clearly said that an hour had passed.

"Come in."

Draco cautiously entered the room, "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just a bit tired."

"Er…I just came to bring you some tea. Mrs. Weasley asked me to- it was going cold."

Harry sat up. His glasses were still on.

"Thanks."

Draco lingered a moment, as if he had something else to say, but left before he so much as opened his mouth. Harry looked at the empty bottles again. Addict, he thought again, but this time almost fondly.

Harry drained himself of several liter Elixir in the days that followed. Truth be told, he needn't have done so much; injuries and deaths were rare now that there were so few people left. Absentmindedly, he tried to remember who the dead were.

Luna Lovegood had been killed by Voldemort's Horcrux diary. Snape had been murdered by his fellow Death Eaters when they discovered he was a spy. Bill and Ginny Weasley had been killed during Voldemort's raid on Hogwarts. There were more too- people Harry had never heard of who had given their lives for a cause Harry still couldn't muster any enthusiasm for.

It all seems pretend, Harry thought. Like I'll just wake up and go back to Chemistry tomorrow, and forget about magic and Elixir and dark lords out for my blood.

Like some day I'll wake and find my blood red, my mortality returned.

He paused his collection of Elixir for a moment to examine a slivery drop. What about it was so special?

That night, he had a dream. He was standing in a forest at night- the Forbidden Forest. A voice was whispering from somewhere in the shadows.

"He'll live a half life… A cursed life…Haven't you leaned your lesson about unicorn blood, _boy_?"

Suddenly, there was a cloaked figure in front of Harry. It was short and something struck Harry as _wrong _about it.

With no transition, Harry found himself on the ground, hands in the air. The cloaked _thing_ had his hands, and it was biting them, licking them, lapping up drops of blood and moving slowly up his arm.

It wants the Stone, Harry thought, as it moved towards his face. But I can't let it-

"Harry, are you alright?"

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes to find Draco leaning over him. His heart was still racing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if his blood still carried oxygen. He suspected it didn't, but the body's habits died hard.

"Harry?" Draco said again.

"I'm fine. Just had a nightmare."

"Oh," Draco paused a moment, awkwardly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head, "No. It was stupid, anyway."

Draco shrugged, and walked towards the door. After Draco left, Harry wondered: "How did he know I was having a nightmare?"

Harry didn't try to bleed himself for a week or so after that. Perhaps that was what had brought the dream on.

Then, two weeks later, Dumbledore died. He's had access to elixir, but hadn't taken it.

Harry was not in Dumbledore's room when the headmaster died, but Hermione was. She came out sobbing.

"He's dead," she said, and buried her head in Ron's shirt, "I didn't expect –not this soon."

Ron patted her awkwardly on the back, a shell-shocked look gradually taking over his features, "He can't be dead," he said, "Couldn't he be-sleeping? Did you check for a pulse?"

Still with her head against Ron, Hermione nodded.

After a moment, she pulled away, and turned to Harry.

"He said to tell you not to fear the next great adventure. Do you know what that means?"

Harry shook his head.

'Well-he was…wandering, in those last few minutes. Seemed to think I was someone else."

She shook her head, and shed a few tears, "What are we going to do now?"

The Order of the Phoenix abandoned the house a few hours later. Dumbledore was-had been- their Secret Keeper, and with him gone, there were dozens of ways Death Eaters could find them.

For the time being, Harry returned home with Draco and Nick. Ron and Hermione came too; they had nowhere else to go. Having the entire Weasley clan together was unsafe. Too many targets, gathered together. Voldemort was guaranteed to track down some of the Order. But, split up, they couldn't lose everybody.

There was no mention of school; soon, they would be returning to England, to the Wizarding World. This was only a brief reprieve. Still, it was nice to walk around the neighborhood without fear, to talk with a few friends and relax a bit. He even went to see a movie with Mike.

"Why've you been gone so long, Harry? You're missing classes, you know. How are you going to be valedictorian if you don't come back to school."

"There've been family problems," Harry lied. "I might have to skip this year and come back next…"

There was a thud, and Harry turned to find Mike laying on the ground, not moving.

"Mike?!"

Then Harry found himself suddenly pinned to the ground, a wand jabbed into his head.

"Don't make any sudden moves," a voice said.

Not American, Harry thought. Death Eaters. It was darker than it had been a mere second ago-presumably the effect of some spell.

"I don't want to hurt you," the voice continued roughly, "So don't try to escape. I'm going to get you out of here. You don't need to be involved in this war. You'll just get hurt. And it's too-" he stopped. Somewhere nearby, something was rustling.

The rustling got louder, and Harry found himself lifted up into huge arms before the sickening sensation of Apparition hit him.

A moment later, Harry was laying on something soft and dusty. A bed perhaps? He couldn't see. It was still dark, and he couldn't move. Had the man cast a spell? Harry hadn't heard one, but perhaps he'd just missed it in the confusion?

"There," the voice said, "One minute-let me get a light on."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see a faint illumination. A candle, perhaps. A light bulb was unlikely.

"Sorry about that," the man said, coming back over.

Seeing his captor was no comfort. Harry almost wished he had remained in the dark.

The main in front of him was a walking corpse. Harry had seen dying people at the hospital, and none of them looked this bad. The man was so thin that he resembled a skeleton, except his mat of stinking uncombed hair and his wild eyes.

"I'm Sirius Black," the man said with what on someone more alive looking might have been a reassuring smile. "Don't worry-everything will be just fine now."

A/N:

Yes, I'm evil. Yay for cliffhangers!

Please review!


	4. Nightmare Come True

**Chapter Four- Nightmare Come True**

Black did not take the spell off Harry until several hours later. This was long enough to convince Harry that Black was not a Death Eater, but was completely mad.

"You're all that's left," Black muttered several times as he paced the room, "Lily and James are dead, and Peter, that traitor…Voldemort will win, you see. They tell me Dumbledore's dead… too. Nowhere is safe, anymore. Well- it won't be. He won't stop at Briton. He'll take the whole thing. Better off dead than in a world like that…" For a moment there was a strange, terrifying light in Black's eyes.

_Not an option_, Harry thought. _Not for me_. _And I won't be able to hide. Not once Voldemort finds out about my blood. He'll lock me up and drain me. There isn't anyone that can stop him. Especially not me- Harry Potter, a squib with a grand total of two years at Hogwarts... _

Harry was free to walk around his small room for a couple of hours before Black froze him again. There were no easy exits. He was on the second floor of a large house. That much he was fairly certain of. He was not in America anymore. He could see through the grimy window (locked, and charmed unbreakable), and the cars driving by on the left side of the road told him what country he was in now.

"I'd like to go home," Harry told Black as soon as he was free.

Black shook his head, "It isn't safe."

Harry considered saying something sarcastic, but thought better of it. No sense in angering the madman.

"Why is this place safe then?" Harry asked instead, hoping there was still enough sanity in the man that he could be reasoned with.

Black grinned, revealing a set of yellowed, gapped teeth. "Fidelius Charm. No one can get in while I live."

Harry felt his hopes sink. There really was no way for someone to rescue him, now. He'd have to find his own way home. That might be even more dangerous that staying here, if there were Death Eaters looking for him.

When Harry finally started to feel like the cramps he had developed from sitting so still for so long were going away, Black paralyzed him again.

"Time for bed," he said, and tucked Harry's frozen body under the covers. It might have been a tender, loving gesture if Harry was three. As it was, it was creepy.

Harry remained still through the night, occasionally falling asleep and waking to a confused paralysis that frightened him until he remembered where he was. His rest was further interrupted when Black walked around the house, apparently as restless as Harry. He would mutter as he walked along, or sometimes- even more frightening- he would burst into song, singing strange lullabies or wizarding rock tunes that hadn't been popular for twenty years.

By morning, Harry was determined to escape. The only question was how.

Black left him alone for several hours in the morning, still frozen in place. Harry wondered if Petrifus Totalus wore off after a while. What if it didn't? Or what it this wasn't that spell, but some more advanced version that would keep Harry trapped here just the same? After all, Harry hadn't heard the incantation. It had been silent, this time. What if Black got hurt, or killed, while he was out? What if Harry was left alone, starving and unable to move? What happened to a Fidelius if the Secret Keeper died? Someone had told him, when Dumbledore died.

Everyone the Secret Keeper had told the location to while alive became a Secret Keeper themselves. That was it.

Somehow Harry doubted that Black had told anyone else the secret. He didn't even recall Black telling him, though since Harry was here, he had to have been told. Harry would be the only one who could find the building he was trapped in. He would be stuck forever.

He hoped fervently that Black didn't get himself killed.

Hours passed. Harry grew more and more nervous with each second that passed. Despite his being perfectly still, his heart began to race. Forever, trapped in this room.

And when Harry was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, Black strolled in through the door, whistling and carrying bags of food and clothes.

He didn't seem to understand why Harry began to cry, once he was moving again. Crying from relief.

Harry didn't have to sit still again for hours and hours. He had a chance to go to the bathroom and stretch, and was given a set of robes to wear. He hid his own clothes behind some musty old towels in the bathroom; he might need to get out into the muggle world, and he would stand out if he wore robes then.

The kitchen in this house was dark and dusty. It obviously hadn't been used in years, perhaps decades. Black used a spell to clear the dust from the table before he put a loaf of bread and a few apples on the table.

"Eat," he said. Harry did so, slowly at first and then ravenously; he hadn't had anything to eat for over a day. He didn't let himself get distracted from his true goal, however. He needed to find a way out of this madhouse.

"I'm not letting you run away," Black said, as if reading Harry' mind, "They've got you convinced that you have to help, don't they?" He chuckled bitterly. "They did the same to me, before you were born. Told us everyone should stand together. You know that that got us? James and Lily are dead. Peter was never on our side at all. I went to prison for sixteen years, for I crime I never committed." His face took on a dreamy, far-away look, and he shuddered. "Fighting doesn't help. Better to keep a low profile, to avoid getting their notice at all."

Harry got the impression that he was listening to a well-rehearsed speech, albeit one made by a madman.

"Please- let me go."

Black's eyes went wide, "It isn't safe out there, Jam- Harry."  
"It isn't safe here, if you're going to leave me petrified while you go shopping. If you'd have been attacked-"

"Thus the low profile." Black grinned, looking almost dashing. Harry could see, for a moment, what he must have looked like before prison. Under the circumstances, it was scary; that bravado meant that there was no reasoning with this man.

This didn't change Harry's plan. He had to get away. He hadn't really been expecting cooperation, though it would have been nice.

A couple hours later, he was in his room again. Waiting for a chance, through he wouldn't be able to take it since he _couldn't move_.

Second by second, days passed. No opportunities presented themselves for escape. Black continued leaving Harry alone in the house with no way to escape. His food, at least, got better, though there still wasn't enough of it. Harry was rapidly losing weight. Black was rapidly gaining it. He looked almost human now, not like a shriveled up mummy found in a bog. He must have been eating while he was out.

It was strange what Harry found he could get used to. After a couple of weeks, he found it easy to drift off into daydreams or actual sleep while stuck in bed. After a month or so, he found it difficult not to, even when he was relatively free. Life had acquired a level of unreality. His dreams were more vivid, more interesting, though they were not always pleasant. Perhaps he was going mad. Black certainly was. One day-unless it was a dream (it was getting hard to tell sometimes) - Black had showed him a whole wall of heads- house elves, face in bizarre grimaces and neatly mounted.

"This is one I did," he said to Harry in a merry voice, "he asked me to. Bloody, annoying creature."

And then they had gone into the kitchen and had tea and lemon cake.

By the twelfth week, Harry was never sure if he was awake or dreaming. He would walk down the hallway only to find himself in a forest, surrounded by a cloud of blue and purple butterflies. Several times, he found himself standing in a nightclub, dancing to a heavy beat until a little girl with huge grey eyes came up to him and told him to get out while he still could. He wasn't sure whether she was talking about the club or the house that he was only dimly aware of, but either way it seemed like a good idea.

On one day, several weeks later, he had a lucid moment, and thought: _If I don't kill Black now and escape, I'll go mad._

The thought made him laugh. _If I'm not already._

He made a plan-several-but they kept slipping away from him. That was when he realized he was dreaming. With a jolt, he woke up, still frozen.

I do have to kill him, Harry thought again, this time with a hint of hysteria and a sick feeling in this stomach. _There isn't any other way out of this hellhole. He's a wizard, and if he's alive he'll be able to keep me here_.

The question remained: how? Harry had no magic, so that eliminated a large range of options. He was never left alone while mobile, so it would have to be something without any preparations required.

In short, he would be bashing Black over the head, or stabbing him with a knife from a drawer in the kitchen.

If he screwed it up, he might never get another chance. Who know what Black might do after a murder attempt? Maybe Harry would never get out of this bed again. _Well, then. I'll just have to succeed the first time. _

The opportunity came the next day. Black was chopping vegetables for some sort of soup, letting Harry sit at the table and have a cup of tea, and he put the knife down for a moment and turned-

Harry grabbed it without another though, not giving Black a chance to realize what was happening. He hesitated for only a second before plunging the large blade though Black's shirt into his back.

There were still a few specks of carrot on the blade. Black twitched a few times, and Harry was sure he was not dead, but it was good enough. Harry ran. The front door was locked, as were the windows, but he managed to smash one window with a chair and he climbed out, trampling the overgrown bush below.

The he started running in earnest, not stopping for the stares at his red-and-silver- blood drenched clothing. The window had sliced him up fairly well, and Black had bled, too. More than Harry wanted to think about.

He had no idea where he was going, no idea where he was. A city, in England, judging by the accents and- yes, he'd seen the cars before, driving on the left. Was this London? He slowed. How in hell was he going to get home? Should he go to the police? Try to beg enough money for a pay phone? He was too tired to think, and he ended up just sitting on a bench. Funny, that. He'd just spent months doing nothing but sleeping, and now that he was free, he just wanted to find a bed and sleep some more. He ended up falling asleep on that bench for several hours, until the police made his decision for him by waking him up.

"You can't say here, sir," a big bulky man told him, "Don't you have a home?"

Harry began sobbing.

Several hours later, Harry had been given a clean change of clothing and a warm shower while the police tried to call his house.

No one answered. The message on the answering machine was the same as it had been months ago: "You've reached the Flamel house. Please leave a message after-Dad, stop making faces. Anyway, leave a message after the-

Beep.

"Hi," Harry told the answering machine. The police had already left a message for him, but he wanted to leave one of his own, "This is Harry. I'm safe, and relatively unharmed, but I'm somehow in England. Er. The police left a phone number and everything. So, call when you get this, okay?"

Beep.

Then it was time to give the police his statement.

"I was walking around, and he must have grabbed me from behind. I don't remember much after that for a while. I woke up in his house. He kept me locked up for most every day, and I couldn't even move."

"Where was this house?"

Try as he could, Harry could not remember. He hadn't caught the address.

"The window is broken," he said, knowing they would not be able to find the house or the body, "I had more important things to do than notice the address on the way out."

"His name? The kidnapper?"

"Black. Sirius Black."

The questioning continued for a while, and Harry answered everything as accurately as he dared. They gave him a full meal and danced around delicate questions that took Harry a while to even figure out what they were.

Why had Black done this? Had Harry been…hurt? Where was Black now? Did Harry want to speak to a counselor? What exactly had the treatment been like there?

Gradually, Harry realized what they were getting at. They thought Harry had been raped, but was avoiding telling them.

With no better story give them, he let them continue to think so. It was embarrassing, but his periodic blushes and horror-struck looks probably convinced them of this story all the more.

He was given a cot in the corner of an unused room. With the light on, he fell asleep more peacefully that he had in months.

He was lying the bed, in the house, and he was sticky. He could not move, and Black was standing across the room, holding the knife. Harry found that he could move his eyes and looked down to find himself covered in tacky, half-dried, red. Somehow he knew it was his own, that Black had killed him and he was still from death, not any curse.

So this is what death is like, Harry though. Well, I know how to handle this. With a little twist that had become familiar in the past weeks he slipped into a dream.

"We've been waiting for you," a voice said, dreamily, "You're awfully late. Do you like butterflies?"

Harry shook his head, and found himself standing in an underground room, with large carved pillars supporting the ceiling. The Chamber of Secrets, he thought. He had never been there before, but somehow he knew this was it.

In front of him was a girl with long blonde hair and large watery grey eyes, staring very intently at a spot just beyond his left ear.

"I do," she continued, sounding almost angry. "I like them very much, and I would like to be a butterfly now that I am dead. They don't think very much, you know?"

"Butterflies?"

"They have the right of it, I think. They don't worry. They live, they eat, they breed, they die. And then there are baby butterflies, and they do the same thing, forever. I would like to be a butterfly."

"Are you Luna Lovegood?" He couldn't recall seeing her when he was at Hogwarts for his second year, but then, he'd been wrapped up in his problems. And she did _look_ like Luna Lovegood.

All of this made perfect sense while he was asleep.

"Are you Harry Potter?"

"Not anymore. I changed my-"

And then he woke up in the police station, well-rested though jumpy.

Nick still hadn't picked up the phone. Harry suspected that they were back in England, fighting.

_They know I'm not dead,_ he thought. _They should have left a way for me to contact them when I got free. Unless they thought I'd never escape. After all, it was months. Maybe they assumed Voldemort had me. _

Maybe it hadn't been safe to stay in the house anymore. Draco had found it. Dumbledore's letter had found it. Black had at least known the neighborhood, though perhaps not the exact address. It was only a matter of time before Death Eaters found it as well. It was a miracle they hadn't while Harry still lived there.

What if they had, and the rest of the family had still been there? Nick might be locked up or dead, and Draco-

Draco's supply of elixir was nearly gone. Harry had nearly gone crazy draining himself beforehand, but there hadn't been more than twenty bottles. How many weeks had it been? Fourteen? Fifteen? How long until that stupid unbreakable vow kicked in?

His earlier train of though came back to him. If Death Eaters had been in the house, they knew that his last name was Flamel now, not Potter, They had access to the answering machine. If Death Eaters could still get into the house and they had control of Wizarding England- which they did- then Harry was in so much more trouble that he was lucky he hadn't been captured yet.

If Death Eaters could figure out how to work the answering machine, they would know exactly where Harry was. They would know where he had been for the last few months.

If they captured him, Voldemort would have a perfect source of elixir. Voldemort would be immortal, and Harry-

Well, Harry would be lucky if he ever had a chance to move, or see the sky, or talk again. He couldn't imagine Voldemort's treatment being any better than Black's.

If. If, if, if. For all Harry knew Nick was away on a…a _fishing _trip, and hadn't had a chance to get to the phone.

No. That was stupid, wishful thinking.

He had to find somewhere safe to hide. Somewhere no one could find him, where he could stay until he'd though of a better plan.

A place like Black's house.

He shuddered a little at the thought, but it made sense. Black was dead, now. Only Harry could get into the house. The only other thing there was dust. Dust and a dead body on the kitchen floor.

"Just stepping out for a bit of fresh air," Harry told the policeman near the door. I'll be back in a minute."

Tracing his steps back to the house was tricky, but he knew it when he saw it.

It was the old house with the overgrown front yard and the broken window. He walked in slowly, wishing he had a weapon.

Sirius must have stayed alive for a few minutes, at least. He'd dragged himself half-way across the kitchen. There was a trail of blood showing where he'd moved in his last few moments.

The mess wasn't made any better when Harry retched all over the floor

Somehow, Harry managed to drag the body out the back door and hid it behind a bush. He got out a rag and scrubbed the floor until no trace of gore remained, stopping to heave every few minutes. He didn't have any food left in him, at least. No more mess to tidy up.

He would never eat in this room again. If he could find a way to avoid cooking in it, he would do so.

Only then did he realize exactly how hungry he was. After all, one night's food wasn't enough to fix months of near-starvation.

Looking again at the floor, he decided that one day more of near-starvation would be alright. He couldn't bring himself to eat anyway, and there wasn't any food around except what Black had been cooking when Harry had... At some point, Harry would have to leave to buy some. He couldn't eat what was on the kitchen counter.

Was there any money lying around? Black must have had some, somewhere. Slowly, avoiding thinking about what he'd done, Harry began searching the rooms. There were even more of than he'd suspected, but it was easy to figure out which one was Black's. All of the others had a thick layer of dust on their contents. Black's, while not clean, looked lived in.

_Not anymore_, Harry thought. He stopped for a moment, shuddered and felt sick for a minute, and continued searching through Black's belongings. There was not much to see. Some newspaper articles, clipped out of their pages and piled in a heap. A pile of dirty laundry.

Finally, in a coat-pocket, Harry found a handful of gold coins. In the Muggle world they were worthless. He stared at them for a minute, then tucked them into his pocket. In time, perhaps, he would be desperate enough to try shopping at a Wizarding store. For now, he would remain hungry. A little hunger would not kill him. He searched for a little some Muggle money, but found none.

What the hell had Black been thinking? He'd seemed confident that no Death Eater would catch him, but he must have been shopping in Diagon Alley every day. The idiot! He could have been _killed_.

Harry sat down on the bed abruptly, tired. It was morning still and the light was coming through the curtains dimly. The house was quiet.

Gently, Harry fell asleep on the dead man's bed.

Harry woke in the middle of the night and couldn't move. For a moment, he though he was trapped again, that he hadn't shoved the knife in hard enough, and Black had come back to trap him again, this time for good- and then he found that he could move after all, and he sat up.

There was no light switches, which confused him for a moment until he remembered that this was a Wizarding home.

Candles were everywhere, but matches were harder to find. Finally, Harry got up and went downstairs, where he lit a few candles with the stove.

It was chilly and quiet. Suddenly, Harry wanted noise. Music, or a dog barking, or…anything, really, to get rid of the thick silence. He looked around but there was no Wizarding Wireless around the kitchen, and he didn't much fancy going anywhere else. The house was downright spooky at night.

He lit a fire in the fireplace, and the cracking of the logs helped calm him a bit.

He needed a plan. Stumbling along without one had led him here, with no way to find Nick or his friends, with no means of support and a dead boy in the back yard.

In his head, he began making a list of things to do.

1. Get some Muggle money

2. Figure out a way to find Nick

3. Avoid getting captured by Death Eaters

4. Get some muggle clothes

5. Get some flashlights or something; candles are too dim.

6. Get some food.

When the dawn arrived, Harry opened up all the curtains in the house, letting sunlight touch the dusty furniture for the first time in he didn't know how many years. He got a rag and wiped the grime from the glass. When he finished, the house was still filthy, but brilliant beams of sunshine could come in.

Over the next couple of days, Harry cleaned like a house-elf. He worked from dawn to duck and ate only the little food left in the kitchen-an apple and the heel of a loaf of bread. He was going to be stuck here for a long time, so it was worth cleaning up a bit.

He went through Black's things, trying not to look at the pictures in the photo albums or read the writing on the covers of the notebooks. He didn't want to see evidence that Black had been a real person, outside of this bizarre kidnapping situation. He didn't want to see the huge chocolate frog card collection. What he did want to see- and what he found, eventually, after a full twenty minutes rummaging around in the dead man's truck, was his vault key. Black had a Gringotts account. Judging by the size of his house, it was probably fairly large.

If Harry could get into Diagon Alley without being caught, and could change some of those Galleons into pounds, he wouldn't have to worry about food again. Before, that hadn't been feasible. After all, Harry couldn't walk in as himself. Dark Wizards were, quite literally, after his blood. But if he could pretend to be someone else, using the good old muggle methods of hair dye and a change of clothes- which he'd have to steal or buy, somehow…

Well, that was almost a plan, at least for now.

**A/N: **Well, before anyone gets mad at me for killing Sirius… I'm sorry! And I'd like to point out that he wasn't evil, really, but had gone crazy. My rationale for this insanity? In canon, Sirius was in Azkaban for less time than in this story. Also, he had months to compose himself and regain some stability before revealing himself to Harry. He had hope, however small, that he could get Pettigrew, prove his innocence, and move on with his life. Here, he's escaped to find that the world is worse than his worst memories in Azkaban, with Voldemort winning and most of the Order dead. There isn't any way to prove himself innocent; he'd be better off if he actually had been a Death Eater. In such a hopeless situation, is it any wonder he went a bit strange? And as for Harry killing him- well, there were probably better ways to escape, but this one presented itself and Harry wasn't thinking very clearly after months of near-starvation and captivity.


	5. Hide 'n' Seek

Chapter Five: **Hide 'n Seek**

If Harry had had enough food, it might have taken him a few days to gather enough courage to raid Black's vault. As it was, he left only an hour after the idea occurred to him, stomach grumbling all the way.

Hopefully no Death Eaters would be able to recognize him. After all, he had no scar, no identifying marks. Despite his silver blood, his coloration looked normal; he made sure to stay tanned enough to hide any oddness.

If anything gave him away it would be his eyes. Green was too uncommon a color. He would just have to hope that he encountered no Death Eaters or that any he did meet were preoccupied with Muggle-torturing or whatever they did in their free time. After all, there couldn't be _that _many of them. Just enough to overthrow the government, that was all.

If they saw him, he was screwed. He grabbed one of Black's cloaks on the way out. It was too warm out for one , really, but at least Harry wouldn't look like a Muggle once he got to Diagon Alley. Any suspicion would kill him. Finding the Leaky Cauldron was tricky- he hadn't been there in years, after all- but after a few hours wandering, he managed it.

There were not many people inside. Harry realized at the last minute that he hadn't brought a wand, and might have given up right then if an old kindly looking witch hadn't come through. He rummaged though his pocket as she tapped the correct bricks, pretending to look for a wand he didn't actually possess. The he followed her through, and walked towards Gringotts.

The street was much more subdued than it had been several years ago. Even the colors on the advertisements and shop signs tended towards grey, as if they were trying not to be noticed. People hurried along, many wearing heavy cloaks or large hats that hid their faces in shadow. Harry needn't have worried about looking out of place. Everyone here was as terrified as him.

"I'd like to withdraw some money," Harry told the goblin in the bank, "And I'd like to change it for Muggle money."

The goblin peered at the key. "What vault number?"

"327," Harry replied. The number was on the key.

The ride down to the vault was not as fun as Harry remembered it being, but then, he was older now, and had been on real roller coasters. The Gringotts cart was nothing compared to the rides he had been on.

He filled his pockets and a few bags with coins, and had them all converted to Muggle money. Then, being very careful to avoid muggers, he went back to the house and left most of it on the table. At least he didn't have to worry about anyone breaking in and stealing from him. The Fidelius took care of that nicely.

Then, stomach rumbling, he went to the grocery store down the street. It was a small one, with an elderly Chinese woman behind the counter, glaring at him as he selected foods. The floor was scrupulously clean, and he almost felt guilty for stepping on it. He made his purchases quickly and began the walk home.

The first suspicious figure he saw was leaning against a fence a few doors past the house, just far enough away that Harry couldn't make out their face. Their stance-relaxed, smoking a quick cigarette-did not strike him as Death Eater-like, but he had never seen one before, so it could well be one. He hurried inside and looked out the window, but the person-whoever it had been-was gone. Perhaps he was just jumping at shadows.

Nevertheless, as he piled apples onto the counter, he still felt anxious.

That night, he dreamed of Luna again.

"I'll be turning seventeen soon," she said quietly. The statement seemed absurd. She looked, perhaps, ten. Maybe eleven. She was tiny and frightened.

"Happy birthday," Harry said, ignoring the evidence.

She nodded solemnly, and then Harry was standing in a sea or music and dancing bodies, with lights flashing. It was a nightclub and the music-the music was…

Someone suddenly grabbed his arm. He turned, looked up slightly, and saw blonde hair. For a moment his heart raced. Then he noticed the length and the way it was tangled, and realized it was Luna- a Luna nearly his age, and dressed in muggle clothing. Though who else it would be, and what they would be wearing, here, he wasn't sure. After all- that's where he went every night, and she was always here. Right.

He had a nagging sense that he was forgetting something, but couldn't remember what. And when had Luna gotten taller than him? Surely a moment ago- but that was silly. She was nearly seventeen, and he was short for his age.

"Great party!" she said.

"Yeah."

He looked her over. Her clothing was plain tonight-a black tank top and jeans. But her tattoos were vividly displayed, somehow enhanced by the flashing lights, the music, and the disorientation.

"Is that new?" he asked, gesturing towards her left arm.

She turned so that he couldn't see it, and a panicked look stole across her face for an instant, only to be replaced by a smile, "You wouldn't approve."

"It can't be any worse than the naked blue angel."

She held out her arm, and he saw a black skull, and a snake. Something at the back of his brain stated hinting, but he couldn't recall where he'd seen it before.

"What's the significance of this?" he asked.

All of her tattoos had a story, or a meaning.

"It means you're going to die," she said, and suddenly she had a knife and the last thing he saw was the flash of strobe light, and a sliver blade while the music thrummed like a heartbeat.

And then he woke up, and found that he was hungry.

The next day, Harry saw another out-of-place character. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, and certainly her bright purple t-shirt didn't scream "Death Eater!", but as he walked past he got a funny feeling, like she was trying too hard to look as if she wasn't paying attention to him.

It wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you. He turned off the next street and once he was out of sight he ducked into an alley and hid behind a trash can.

A moment later he heard quick footsteps nearby. Someone was running, trying to catch up with him. It hadn't been paranoia after all. The sound faded away after a moment, replaced by normal traffic sounds.

He stood up and walked out of the alley then, only to find himself stuck in place by a pair of very strong arms. It was a woman with dark brown hair, and she was much stronger than her size suggested.

"Hello, Potter," she said, and something in that sounded vaguely familiar, but he was too concentrated on escaping to find out.

"We're going to take you back to Headquarters now," she said, but Harry was so busy trying to escape that she had to focus on holding on to him instead of talking. People were beginning to stare.

"Is there a problem here?" a man said.

Harry realized with a leap of hope that it was a police officer.

"No," the woman said, "This is my little brother. He's not right in the head, and he ran off again. I have to get him home."

"I'm quite alright in the head, thank you," Harry said, trying to look composed, "I'm being dragged away by a woman I don't even know, that's all. A little help would be appreciated."

"I'll petrify you if you make a scene," the woman whispered. Harry's heart began racing, and then, with a sickening jolt and a headache, he was sitting on the kitchen floor in Black's house. The woman had somehow followed-she was sitting some distance away, staring around her with a scared look.

_I just Apparated_, Harry thought. _That can't have happened_.

"Potter?" she asked, a frightened note in her voice. She was looking around blankly, somehow unable to see him or the rest of the house.

He grabbed rope from a storage room and tried her up. She didn't protest much, but whimpered a couple of times.

_It must be the Fidelius, _Harry thought. _She can't see anything because I haven't told her where it is._

He considered keeping her locked up, but the very idea turned his stomach. And even if she was a Death Eater- well, he didn't want to kill anyone else. He dragged her out the door and down the front walk instead. There were a couple of people nearby, but they wouldn't be able to see him unless he stepped through the gate. He shoved the woman through instead. Once she was out, the others saw her and rushed to untie her. Harry walked inside again, thinking about Apparation and how, somehow, his magic seemed to have returned.

Over the next few hours, everything in his body began to hurt. He was sore all over. It frightened him badly, and he lay on the bed hoping for the pain to leave. He hadn't had any lasting injuries for…years. Years and years. Why was he hurting now?

It was the magic, he was certain. Hadn't Madame Pomfrey told him back when he's started losing his magic, that tampering with his magical core was the one thing certain to kill him? Well, he must have done something to it, because he'd Apparated somehow. And now he was paying the price.

Every bone in his body ached. Every muscle was sore, and shaking with exhaustion.

_"Am I going to die?"_ The thought held less terror than it should have. He thought of Luna- the young Luna- in his dreams. She was dead. Black was dead. It was as much as Harry deserved, really.

He fell asleep, somehow, and felt better when he woke. He still felt shaky and weak, but the pain had ended. He wasn't going to die. He went down the stairs and opened the kitchen to find a little blonde girl in a fancy party dress sitting at the table, having a glass of orange juice.

_Oh, _Harry thought, _I guess I'm dreaming. There isn't any orange juice in the house right now. _

"Hello?" he said anyway.

The girl looked up from her juice, but didn't say anything. Her eyes were big and innocent-looking, but Harry wasn't fooled.

"Why do you keep showing up in my dreams?" he asked, making an effort to sound polite and failing.

"Are they yours?" she asked.

"Yes."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I though they were mine."  
Harry decided that he preferred her in the nightclub, looking as if she were his own age, instead of some overly precocious ten-year old. And then the lights were flashing and the music was pounding, and the two of them were dancing together; Luna older again and dressed in glittering whirls of cloth that looked impossible, that would certainly fall down outside of a dream- even outside of this dream. The clouds of thin cloth covered her tattoos, but Harry knew they were there, hidden as the knife had been in the last dream, ready to stab him.

The dream began to settle on him. Harry Flamel? He was Harry Potter, dancing with his best friend on the night of her graduation. Uncle Nick had let them have the place tonight for free as a present to her, and to Harry for getting good marks during his first year at university.

"Something the matter, Harry?"

"No. Just remembering a dream."

"Tell me! I love dreams!" She had to shout, because the music was getting louder.

"Later!" Harry said, giving her a grin and a past on the back, "It's just too-"

"-loud in here," Harry murmured, waking up for real this time.

All the pain in his joints was gone, and he felt almost relaxed. Sitting in the bedroom, he considered his options.

He could stay in the house and hope that whoever was after him gave up. This seemed unlikely, but possible, given months or years. He could pretend no one had seen him and stick to crowded areas where they wouldn't try to snatch him. After all, he would need more food eventually. This seemed like a worthless plan, really. Death Eaters wouldn't care if they had to Obliviate a few Muggle or even kill them.

Or he could try to escape somewhere else. He'd managed to Apparate once, after all. Why not two times, or three? Regular wizards did it all the time. It couldn't be that hard. And if it killed him, if he was messing with his magical core and he managed to damage himself irreparably- well, at least he wouldn't be captured by Death Eaters. Anything would be better than being locked up again. And it wasn't like he didn't deserve it, after what he'd done to Black. Black, whose body was still in the back yard. With a wand in its pocket.

He couldn't eat for the rest of the day after fetching it, but still, things looked a bit brighter. There were old school books in Black's trunk, and there was a library in the house. He'd never been one for studying, but it wasn't as if there were many distractions here. And if he could manage to learn some spells, his chances of keeping his freedom were much greater.

Harry tried to get back into shape with first year spells, but found that he had very little stamina. After a few Wingardium Leviosas, he began feeling pain again and stopped. It only took about an hour for the pain to leave, this time.

What about casting magic could possibly be hurting him? It couldn't be physical, because the elixir would take care of that instantly. Why hadn't he asked Madame Pomfrey more about magical cores when he had the chance? It would take a ling time to find information now, if he could even figure out a way to do so. The house had a library, but a quick glance at it told Harry that medical wizardry was likely not included.

So. He could stay in the house and practice magic, possibly killing himself, or he could leave, find a bookstore, and probably get captured.

He only managed two spells this time before the pain hit, and decided to stop for the day. Clearly, he would have to work his way into this gradually.

Food was getting low again. He might have to risk another trip out. Too bad he didn't have his invisibility cloak. That would certainly come in handy now.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing. What would his Muggle friends think about this? Invisibility cloaks, dark wizards, the elixir of life-it was like one of those role playing games , except that he didn't get any instructions and he didn't start off fighting weak bad guys. He had Death Eaters to face, and he'd killed a man, and if he made any mistake, he would be captured and tortured and held prisoner for the rest of eternity. The situation was too serious to be absurd.

Looking at the pasta in the cupboards and the small supply of other food, Harry estimated that he would last about another week before he had to go shopping. A glance out the window revealed a homeless man leaning against the wall of the house next door, smoking a fat cigar. At least, he appeared to be homeless. No one with money would dress that shabbily, or with so many layers on. It was early winter, but unseasonably warm.

Right, Harry thought, grabbing the want. No point in putting it off.

He kept himself out of sight as he left the house. If anyone had been able to see him, they would have thought he was mad. He hopped the fence into the yard farthest from smoking homeless man, hopped the fence after that, and continued doing so until he reached the end of the street. From there, he strolled to the grocery store and bought food and hair dye. He wasn't going to make it easy for them to spot him.

Getting back to the house was trickier than escaping had been. His hands were full, making it difficult to scale walls. Eventually he made it back, put his groceries away, and pulled out the dye. It was blond; a dramatic change would be best for hiding. Red stood out too much and brown was too close to black to make him unnoticeable.

The dye job wasn't perfect, but it would easily fool anyone from a distance. Five small charms today before he couldn't continue. He forced himself to eat afterwards; he had to get his weight back up.

He had another dream that night. For once, Luna was not in it. He was sitting in a court room in front of a judge who was wearing long robes and a white wig.

"How do you plead?"

Harry felt strangely detached from the scene before him, "Plead?" he asked, "What are the charges?"

The judge stared at him for a moment.

"Don't get smart with me, boy."

And then Harry was sitting at a table in a café, having a cup of coffee and chatting with…someone, he couldn't quite tell who. A man, with brown hair. He was telling Harry something important, something that made everything make sense at last.

And then he woke up, and of course, he couldn't remember what it had been.

Over the next few weeks, Harry became better at both magic and stealth shopping. He was even feeling confident enough to say hello to one of the suspicious people hanging around, once he'd had his hair done professionally and gotten new glasses. They didn't give him a second glance, didn't even bother to respond to his friendly gesture. Good. His disguise was working. It probably helped that he always came out the gate of the house next door. He was now the kid next door in their minds and was ignored, scenery in their search for Harry Potter.

Things had settled into a quite comfortable routine when the little old lady next door stopped him.

He had just hopped the fence when he saw her, walking towards him.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi," Harry replied.

"I can't help noticing you scaling my garden fence every few days, young boy, and I would appreciate it if you stopped. That flower bed many look dead, but the plants will bloom again in the spring if you stop trampling them."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am. My name is Maude."

"Hi. I'm…" Harry couldn't think for a moment, "John"

The woman raised an eyebrow at the long pause, but did not comment on it.

"Well, why are you climbing my fence, anyway?"

"No reason," Harry muttered, and turned to walk away before she asked him any more questions. There were people nearby, and if they overheard too much…

"You don't look like a bad kid," she said. He turned, "But you're far too thin. Come in and have a decent meal. You look like you could use it."

Feeling no sense of harm from the woman, Harry followed her in. He'd seen her walking around sometimes, and surely if she were a Death Eater she would have done something to him by now.

She put a bowl of warm tomato soup in front of him, "Eat," she said.

He expected her to ask him something, or complain more about her garden, but she did neither. She just stared of into space before saying: "You have a home to go to?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

"You're lying."

Harry shrugged, "I've got somewhere to stay, at least. I'm hopeful."

"So why do you keep trampling the flowers?"

"I can't let anyone see me coming out next door."

She stopped pressing the issue, and handing him a bit of money.

"I can't accept this," Harry said, "I don't need charity."

"Keep it. I won't need it in a while."

Harry took a good look at her. She was old, but not ancient. There was still a little brown in her hair, even. Surely she wasn't in danger of death yet.

Seeing his inquisitive look, she replied, "Heart condition. I'm afraid I haven't long left to live."  
After an awkward lunch filled with small talk and dodging questions, he left to finish his grocery shopping. He would have to do something for her. After all, he hadn't worked in a hospital for years only to let a nice old woman die when he could easily save her.

A/N:

Yes, this took forever. I'm sorry- I have a new baby brother, and things are a bit hectic around here.

Please review- let me know how I'm doing!


	6. A Case of Mistaken Identities

**Chapter Six- A Case of Mistaken Identities**

Several weeks later, Harry found that he couldn't tire himself with basic spells anymore. He moved on to charms from second and third-year textbooks. Slowly, he became stronger. He was better at magic now, and he was also gaining some weight back. The lady nest door-Maude, she called herself- continued giving him meals. He slipped a couple drops of elixir into her food and hoped that would cure her heart condition, whatever it might be.

Once he risked going to Diagon Alley again, to get a book on Apparation. It was only a matter of time before he could do it, and sneaking off kept getting easier. The people guarding the house were getting fewer, and seeing him actually go into and come out of the house next door must have helped convince them that he lived there,

By the time spring arrived, he felt that he was probably ready for Apparation. He rarely got tired anymore, rarely felt that ache that meant he had gone too far.

If he splinched, though, there was no one to put him back together. He would have to find his arm or whatever, and hope he could stick it back on himself. And if he couldn't…Well, it would be a long, painful wait while he saw firsthand if the elixir he had in him was powerful enough to re-grow a limb. And if there was enough elixir in the last limb to grow another Harry. That was a creepy thought.

It was on the day he decided to try Apparating for the first time that all of this became moot point.

He was sitting at Maude's kitchen table having a sandwich when there was a knock on the door.

"Now, who could that be?" Maude asked with a little frown on her face.

Harry wasn't sure what prompted him to act, but he pulled out his wand, hid under the table, and pointed it at the door.

Maude pulled the door open, and before Harry knew what he was doing, before he had registered the face in the door, he'd whispered 'Expelliarmus!" and a wand came flying a him with such a force that it dug into his arm and stuck there like an arrow or a knife…

And then, wand still sticking out, Harry saw the man in the door.

"Nick?" he said, forgetting the pain.

"Harry," Nick said, "We finally found you! We've been looking all over."

"Who the hell are you?" Maude asked.

"His father," Nick said with a smile. Something about that struck Harry as wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Are you ready to come home now? Everything is going to be fine."

"How did you find me?" Harry asked.

"Where did that stick come from?" Maude asked.

Harry pulled the wand from his arm with a sickening _shlup_, and Maude flinched.

It looked funny, Harry thought. Dark wand tipped with silver. It looked almost like a Muggle magician's wand. Only grosser.

"I got your message," Nick said, "A day or two later. We were out of the country, but the second we got back, I came to find you-and you were gone again. We've been looking all over the area for months, now, but every time we caught sight of you, you ran. Are you alright? The police seemed to think-"

"I'm fine. I had to lie to them a bit, they couldn't know…"

Harry began to feel a bit lightheaded. Perhaps he'd overdone the magic a bit, earlier. Oh, well. He didn't need to Apparate now. He could do home with Nick. He could go home.

And then, just as he was about to stand up and give Nick his wand back, Harry caught sight of a flash of blonde hair.

"Is Draco here?" he asked.

"No," Nick said, "He's waiting at home."

"But," Maude started. Harry didn't hear the rest.

A little girl was standing in the doorway, staring at Harry.

_Oh no,_ Harry thought. No more waking dreams. _Those ended when I killed Black, didn't they?_

She mouthed something, but Harry could not tell what it was.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I said that we should get going now. Everyone is waiting."

The girl shook her head, pulled her wand out, and started waving it around.

Harry looked down at his own hand, still holding Nick's dark wand.

Nick's wand was a pale wood, almost white. Nick had never used the word "father" before because he thought it was pretentious. And Nick would not stand there talking as if nothing was wrong. He'd be shouting, and telling Harry exactly how intelligent it had been to leave the house alone, at night, with known murderers after him.

This was not Nick.

Quite calmly- almost unnaturally so- Harry stood up, pushed his chair in, said, 'Of course, father," dropped both wands, and dove at the false Nick so quickly that he knocked him over.

With no wands, Harry was at an advantage. He had nearly unlimited stamina, he didn't really need air, and any damage he sustained was instantly gone. But the screaming and choking bothered him.

The body didn't stop looking like Nick when it passed out. Harry hoped he hadn't killed the man. There had been enough of that. If he could help it, he'd never kill again.

"I'm calling the police," Maude said.

Harry shrugged. "I'm leaving now, anyway. They know where I am. They must have known for a long time. I wasn't fooling anyone."

She stared at him with a blank look, and picked up the receiver-

Harry picked up his wand, then dashed into his house long enough to grab his money. He didn't have anything else he needed, and he didn't trust himself enough with magic to try to Obliviate Maude. That had always been Nick's job, before, when Harry messed something up. Well, now it was time for Harry to start taking control of his own life. He'd been sitting around here for a long time, while every day enemies had come closer to him. It was time to move, to find Nick and Draco.

He turned to the little blonde girl walking at his side and smiled. It was going to be difficult, but at least he wouldn't have to do it alone.

**Interlude-**

"There wasn't a house there before!"

"Ma'am, I can't see how you failed to notice the dead body next door."

"It wasn't there before! Not the body, not the house. Yesterday, no house. This morning, no house. Until five minutes ago, there was no bloody house there!"

Captain Johnson was privately inclined to agree. He happened to live just a few houses down and he'd always wondered why the numbering skipped number 12. But it wouldn't do to put that in the report, would it?

"You said the boy was blond?"

"Yes, but it was an obvious dye job. His eyebrows were much darker. He seemed like such a _nice_ boy. I had him over for tea several times- he looked like he could do with some fattening up."

"Captain! Records are back on the crumbly one."

"Yes?"

"He's that escaped mass murderer. Sirius Black."

Captain Johnson remembered a certain boy who had come into the station a few months ago, claiming that he'd been kidnapped by Black. A boy who'd seemed scared to stay with the police, and had ultimately run away. A boy with dark eyebrows, and dark hair. An obvious dye job, she'd said…

This case was a complete mess. Houses that sprung up from thin air, suspects disappearing and reappearing and disappearing again.

Probably he was hallucinating. There could have been drugs in the lemonade the old woman had given him. Nothing else could explain what he'd seen tonight.

Even the note that had been left on the old woman's table was strange. Written on thick paper, in bright purple ink. And he it was after reading it that all the strange things had happened. Maybe the drugs had been in the paper, and they'd seeped into his skin when he held it? That was how acid had originally been used, wasn't it? In stickers. It wasn't so far fetched.

He stared at the note again. He had some sick days saved up. Maybe it was time to use them.

_The body's next door, at number 12, Grimmauld Place._

_-L.L._

**_--_**

**A/N: **

A very short chapter, but I figured better a short update now than a month more of waiting for everyone reading this… You'll get a little interlude chapter in a few days to make up for it. Unless I forget. ; In which case it will take more than a few days.

Thanks as always to my beta Zephyras, without whom this chapter would make a lot less sense. Thanks are also in order for my reviewers! You guys rock. Keep it up.

Please review!


	7. Interlude: Whistling in His Head

Here's a bonus chapter to make up for the last one being so short.

It takes place after Harry's second year- in other words, right after he leaves the wizarding world.

Enjoy!

--

**Interlude 1: Whistling in his head**

Luna looked around. This was a dark, dank place, with a smell of rotten fruit hanging in the air. She could swear there were spiders crawling over her feet, or snakes. But somehow, she wasn't afraid. There were worse things that could have happened to her, and they already had. The diary, and the chamber. Her body would be there forever, she supposed. After all, no one could access the chamber unless they spoke Parseltongue, and Tom was the only one that could do that. Besides, it was summer. No one else was in the school. They'd all left on the train, hours ago.

Even if there had been someone there, they couldn't help her now. She was dead. She knew this; she'd seen her mother die, and she knew very well what Tom was doing to her. She hadn't been able to stop it- she'd realized too late what the lapses in memory were- but she'd slowed him down. No doubt Tom had wanted to force her to kill some students, to command that poor snake down there to do horrible things. But she'd held him off until summer, and that meant he couldn't hurt anyone else.

Luna felt the side of her head, and was pleased to find her wand still tucked neatly behind her ear. She had her mind, she had her free will, and she had a weapon. Things were looking bright.

She walked along for a while, stepping in piles of sludge and other things as she did so. She whistled a little tuneless little ditty as she went along, and wondered what the slime was. Perhaps it was the dung of some fantastic creature, and she'd get to see it. Like the basilisk; that had been a bright spot in her last few minutes. What would Daddy have given to see one of those?

Soon enough she found light, coming from a large rectangular grate in the ceiling. Good. She was dead; there was supposed to be a light at the end of the tunnel, and when she got through it she would see her mother again.

She looked up though the grate but couldn't see much. It was still dim up there, and the grate was far above her. Carefully, standing very tall, she felt around the edges of it, and loosened the screws holding it up. It fell with a clatter in a puddle, splashing her and nearly crushing her toes. She stopped humming. Even in heaven, it seemed one could get hurt.

It took a bit of effort to get up the hole; it was a full two feet over her head. She had to pick the grate up, balance it on one of its thick edges, and stand very carefully on that while trying not to fall off. It was tricky, and took a few tries, but eventually she was high enough up that she could host herself out of the hole.

Finally, with a little thump and a moment when she thought she would slip down again- there was nothing to hold on to- she was out.

The gloom in this room made it hard to make anything out, though it was better than the tunnel. The room was large, and stone like Hogwarts; that much she could easily see. She closed her eyes for a moment, tasting the air. It wasn't as damp as that below, but there was still a moldy smell of decay.

"Lumos," she muttered, and a feeble beam came from her wand. It was not enough to see anything in detail, but she did see that there was some sort of pillar to her left, and anther to her right. She took a few steps, and resumed her whistling. There was nothing to be afraid of here.

Funny. The base of the pillar looked almost like...

She walked farther away, and bright lights suddenly flooded the room. She had to close her eyes for a moment against the sudden illumination.

The base of the pillar _was_ a shoe, taller than she was. And what she'd taken as the room was merely part of a giant statue. Looking up (her neck craning so hard that it hurt) she saw the face.

It was Tom, grinning at her as he did in her worst nightmares.

As she watched, he grinned wider. For a moment, she couldn't move. Her whistling stopped again. Then the moment was gone, and she turned. She did not run; what good would it do her? The statue was not alive. Even if it was, she couldn't possibly outrun it. She would walk slowly.

Luna had not found heaven in her death. She had not found her mother or a multitude of snorklacks, hadn't found friends or happiness or any of the things she'd been hoping for.

She had found Tom Riddle's mind.

Still- the worst was over. He could hardly do anything to her that was worse than killing her, after all.

Whistling again, she walked onward.

--

A/N: So. Short, but it's only an interlude, so you can't complain. I was saving this for a time when I couldn't update for a while, but... meh. I just forget whenever it would be helpful. So, here.

Please Review!


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